The 102nd Hunger Games: Fantasy World
by androidilenya
Summary: Once again, the Hunger Games have begun. And the primary arena designer this year is a slightly insane bookworm who has decided it might be amusing to create an arena for kids to die in. Because that's fun, right? Twenty-four tributes. One Victor. Which means twenty-three tributes will fall. May the odds be ever in your favor. Rated T because the Hunger Games. *closed*
1. Prologue: Atarinkë

**So. It begins again. My fourth SYOT, eh? Starting a day after I finished my last one might be kind of insane of me. But I felt like it. So there.**

**Submission info at the bottom, after a short prologue. Reintroduction to the Gamemakers first (or an introduction to those of you who are new here~)**

**Excerpts from Isis' stalker-book included. Format: **

**Full name**: nickname/code name that's totally a reference: _Character analysis according to Isis - how code name totally fits them- hair color/eye color_

**As always, kudos to those who get my references. They're pretty blatant here, but...**

* * *

"You're late."

"Funny. You say that every time I show up." Isis Perra turned a page in her book, nudging the door open with one booted foot. "Are the rest of them here already?"

"Yes." Kushana Viserys followed her fellow Gamemaker in, frowning. "I do not understand why you are always late."

"That's okay." Isis sat in her usual spot, to the right of the chair reserved for the Head Gamemaker.

"Isis! My primary arena designer!" Daenerys Targeryen grinned, green cat eyes glittering with excitement. "Are the arena designs ready yet?"

**Daenerys Atreides**: Atar: _I've never really been able to figure out why she's our Head Gamemaker. At times, it seems like all she does is drink tea, eat cake, and tease us. But... then there was the time she ordered Alyza to be executed for defying her... and the weird pleasure she takes in watching children die... (not that I should call it weird as I seem to enjoy that as well). There's something scary hidden under that playful, childish exterior.  
Labeling her as the leader here for obvious reasons. Not only is she our boss, I do get the feeling that the seven of us would follow her into death if she wanted. And if we swore an Oath of some sort. But whatever.  
Hair color: black. Eye color: green._

"I have them right here." Without looking up from her book, she tossed a pile of papers onto the smooth wooden surface of the table. The stalker-book (er, notebook) containing her character analysis of each of her fellow Gamemakers slid from her bag and she stuffed it back in. No need for them to see that.

"And how much will this cost?" Azuki sighed, flipping a pencil-drawn schematic over. "It looks a good deal more complicated than last year's."

**Azuki Madarame**: Maitimo: _The responsible one. And the oldest of us. She's kind of got that older-sibling feel to her. And she's always having to clean up our messes. Not only is she the smartest of us all, but... she's also the most mature, no doubt. And in a way the sanest. She tends to hang out more with Merete, the other semi-sane person here.  
Oldest sibling label fits perfectly. Note to self: figure out a way to get her right hand cut off...  
Hair color: red. Eye color: dark brown._

"Shouldn't cost that much," Dany mused. "I mean, the basic concept is one that's been used before."

"I don't get how that part works," Merete mumbled, pointing to another diagram. "Are you saying that specific time, or is it more of a readiness thing?"

**Merete Amaranth**: Kano: _She tends to sit around staring off into space, singing to herself. She doesn't really seem like the Gamemaker-type, but Dany picked her so I suppose there's some sort of bloodthirst there. She's pretty clumsy and tends to trip over her own feet whenever she walks. But she's awfully good-natured about it and I don't think I've ever seen her get angry. As I said. She's one of the sane ones. Though she does tend to be a bit dramatic. And it seems like she'd give up more easily than the others.  
I don't think I've ever seen her play the harp. But she's the only one here with any kind of musical talent.  
Hair color: black. Eye color: brown_

"Specific time, peasant. Read the notes." Sansa brushed back her long blonde hair, not even deigning to look at the papers before her. "I still think I could have designed a better arena. Why'd you pick the bookworm, Dany?"

"Don't question my judgement~" Dany took a sip of her tea. She always seemed to have a cup handy.

**Sansa Arryn**: Tyelkormo: _Such a princess. As she reminds us every single day, she is royalty (at least in her own mind) and we are all peasants. While it can be very annoying (VERY annoying), she does have a good sense for manipulating others into supporting our cause. And since out arenas seem to cost inordinate amounts of money, her skill can be pretty useful even in this Hunger-Games-obsessed Capitol.  
Very good at convincing us to do stupid things. One day she'll get us all killed, I'm sure.  
Hair color: blonde. Eye color: blue._

"Unless, of course, you want to die." That blunt voice could only belong to one person.

"You're so scary, Kushana~" Rowena teased. "Lighten up!"

**Kushana Viserys**: Morifinwë: _Insane might be one word to describe this one. Her dark, twisted, sadistic imagination is what fueled a great deal of the craziness in last year's arena. She seems to take special delight in other people's pain (not a bad thing, I like that too) and is easily angered.  
Yes. I think she's the insane one.  
Hair color: black. Eye color: dark gold._

"I get the feeling you just wanted to make references here." Azuki frowned at Isis. "Put that book away."

"References are what makes this fun." Isis ignored her senior's order, flipping a page not so subtly. "And it's just more amusing if you actually follow the plot, right?"

**Isis Perra**: Atarinkë: _Oh, it's weird to write a character description for yourself. But that's okay. Every good book needs a socially awkward bookworm, so I suppose that's me. But obviously there's more than that, or I wouldn't be here. I'm the quietly sadistic one that likes creating things like arenas that mess with your mind. And I'm the primary arena designer for the 102nd Hunger Games. Reading books is great because it gives you all sorts of crazy ideas for killing children in the arena.  
Dany has pretty much flat-out said that I'm her favorite because I'm like her. Funny how we so perfectly fit these roles. I'm sure the author didn't do that on purpose at all.  
Hair color: black. Eye color: green._

"What plot?" Rowena asked, confused.

"Nothing."

"Kay, then." The strawberry blonde turned to her sister and poked her. "Wake up, Regina."

**Rowena Targeryen**: Ambarussa: _And what group of random people would be complete without a set of twins? Rowena's the bubbly, bouncy, cheerful one that seems to delight in annoying others with her childish actions. She puts up with her sister. Somehow. And we put up with her, somehow.  
Twins~  
Hair color: strawberry blonde. Eye color: hazel._

"..."

"Wake up?"

"..."

"I'd have thought that you'd have given up by now, Rowena," Merete noted. "She's never awake."

**Regina Targeryen**: Ambarussa: _Unlike her twin sister, Regina tends to sit in a corner and sleep though most of our meetings. But when she is awake, she's got a very violent tendency. in fact, when awake she's the scariest of us all. Good thing she rarely stops napping.  
Twins~  
Hair color: strawberry blonde. Eye color: hazel._

"Looks like we're ready to go~" Dany forked a piece of cake and stuck it in her mouth. "This'll be fun. Nice job with the design, Isis."

"The hard part is only just starting," Azuki warned. "We still have to gather the tributes. Seeing how they interact may influence the arena design as it is right now."

"Oh, I rigged the Reaping. At least partially. We'll get the ones we need." Sansa grinned. "You're welcome, Isis. But your arena has to be awesome or it won't have been worth it."

Isis nodded. "What is it they always say? 'May the odds be ever in your favor'?"

"Yes. This year, may the odds be ever in _our_ favor."

* * *

**So. Yes. **

**If you want to submit, go to my profile. The form is there, right at the top (so you don't have to scroll down my super long profile, ne?). I will accept only via PM, NO EXCEPTIONS. Some spots are already taken so PLEASE CHECK TO MAKE SURE YOUR SPOT IS OPEN before submitting. If you already reserved a spot but your name isn't up there 'cause I forgot, PM me.**

**If you wish to reserve a spot, specify which one you want (i.e. District Eleven male). This spot will only be reserved for you for FORTY-EIGHT HOURS (if you reserved beforehand, that starts now). No exceptions to this unless you have a really good excuse which you'd have to explain when you reserve.**

**Your opinions don't have too much of an impact on what I do with this story. I will say this, though: it couldn't possibly hurt your tribute's chances if you story alert this story and review. Just saying :3**

**And one last thing: the more interesting a character is, the more I'll like him or her. And the more I like him or her, the greater their chances of surviving for awhile. If your character is a ripoff from the 74th or 75th Hunger Games, they will die a bloody death in the bloodbath. Same goes for any Mary Sues.**

**You can expect weekly updates, most likely.**

**Let me know what you think... in a review! And then go submit! Looking forward to seeing your tributes!**


	2. Reapings Part One: If Fate Wills

**Reapings Part One: Districts One Through Six **

* * *

District One

"Where is the heart?"

"Right here." Grimmjow Jeagerjaques poked his dark-haired friend in the chest, hard. "You keep on asking that. Are you mentally challenged, Ulquiorra?"

"No, but maybe you are?" the shorter boy offered.

"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM? I'm a king, dammit! You don't address a KING like that!" He put a hand to his chest and posed dramatically, unsheathing the sword he carried around with him everywhere. A silver and white necklace from his maybe-girlfriend sparkled in the morning sunlight.

"Huh?" Ulquiorra blinked, tilting his head to one side.

"I'M A KING, BITCH!"

"..."

"BOW TO ME! But I'm a fair king, right? And a king is nothing without his people. So I'll forgive you for insulting me." And with that, Grimmjow sauntered off.

Ulquiorra followed. He was used to his friend's odd changes of behavior. It was all fine with him. He just wondered where the heart was.

* * *

"Katica!"

Katica Veselá turned, a smile on her face, to see her friend Eloise hurrying over. "You're late."

"As if. The Escort's not even here." The brown-haired girl skidded to a halt beside Katica, grinning. "She's always late, so it doesn't matter if I get here on time, right? Hey, hey, are you volunteering?" She said this all very fast, hazel eyes wide and excited.

"Of course." Katica brushed her gold-highlighted hair back, smiling as though it were the best thing in the world, to be about to volunteer to enter the arena. As though it were her idea in the first place and not something her father had told her she had to do.

The sound of high heels clacking on bare wood made her look up. The Escort had finally arrived. Her hair- piled on top of her head in a great beehive- was sapphire blue and sparkling silver this year.

"Does she think that actually looks good?" Eloise asked, not even bothering to lower her voice. Katica elbowed her friend, resisting the urge to laugh.

The usual speech, the usual video. Katica tuned them out like every other tribute in most every other Hunger Games. Because this was nothing she hadn't heard before. The more important part came after, when the waiting was done and the Escort finally picked a name.

Finally, the Capitol woman moved towards the first glass bowl. Katica didn't even wait for her to pluck a slip of paper out. Shoving her way to the front, she called out, "I volunteer!"

Of course, there were dozens of other girls doing the same thing at the same time. So she simply launched herself off of Eloise's shoulders- her friend wouldn't mind- and landed on the stage, smiling at the Escort.

"Katica Veselá," she informed her. The Escort nodded and moved on to the boy's bowl.

"I VOLUNTEER BECAUSE I'M A KING!"

A blue haired boy burst from apparently nowhere and lept onto the stage. He bowed to the Escort.

"...and you are?" The woman didn't look particularly impressed.

"Grimmjow Jeagerjaques. You may call me The King."

* * *

District Two

"I think it's awful brave of you to even consider this. But the Reaping's today, you know, so you're running out of time. So have you made up your mind?"

Kalliope barely even spared the chattering blonde girl a glance. "Of course I have." Her violet eyes flicked back to the knife she had been regarding before this... acquaintance had shown up. She didn't even know the girl's name, but that didn't matter. None of the girls that she hung out with were after anything more than social status, which rendered their names irrelevant.

"So?"

"I'm volunteering, of course." And what a thrill it gave her to finally be able to say those words, after so many years. This was it. She was actually going to do it this year.

"Yeah, but why?"

"Because I can win this." She gave the girl a sweet smile and twirled the knife between her fingers.

_Damn right. I can win this. Because you know what? There's not a single tribute that can stand between me and victory._

They would see her as a sweet, innocent little girl. A dainty sixteen-year-old full of kindness, so out of place in the bloody arena. But would they see that under the wide violet eyes and pale skin, a monster lurked? She would not hesitate to rip every other tribute in the arena to shreds with her bare hands if it came down to it. And she would enjoy doing that.

"C'mon, wanna practice?" she asked the girl, smiling, watching how the blonde's face was open and trusting in the face of Kalliope's innocent act.

_People are idiots sometimes. They only see what they want to see. And I think I'll use that to my advantage._

* * *

Calixe fingered the coin in his pocket, running his finger along the cool edge as he watched the other sixteen-year-olds file into his section.

_Will this be it? Is this the year I get called up?_

The answer was the same as it always was. If Fate willed it, he would enter the arena. His personal dreams had no impact on the final decision that Fate would make. If Fate willed it... then it would happen.

That was a philosophy he lived most of his life by.

"Who dressed you this morning, a colorblind two-year-old?" The teasing voice of his best friend, Ryro, made Calixe turn, a smile on his face.

"Fate willed that I wear this today." He was dressed in a bright orange shirt and baby blue pants with pink pinstripes. And while he was aware of exactly how ridiculous it made him look, it was not up to him to deny Fate.

"By which you mean you stood in front of your wardrobe and flipped a coin." Ryro laughed. "You're a weirdo, Cal."

Calixe decided it wasn't worth denying this.

The Escort- an elderly man that had worked with the Districts for decades- hobbled onstage and mumbled something into the microphone. The video- detailing the events of the Dark Days, the original rebellion, and the Mockingjay Rebellion- played as usual. Cal watched the way the light from the screen flickered on the faces of the gathered people and wondered if there was a message from Fate in the patterns.

The video finished. The Escort reached into the girl's bowl. "Fortune-"

"I volunteer!" This came from the girl's section. Calixe recognized the voice but couldn't put a name to it- she was often at the Training Center at the same time as he was. She seemed awfully small as she sauntered up and smiled sunnily at the Escort.

"Kalliope Winters," she informed the crowd.

_It is not wise for her - or anyone - to volunteer. If Fate wanted them to be in the Hunger Games, they would be Reaped._

The Escort dipped one wrinkled hand into the boy's bowl. "Calixe Iocale!"

As usual, the boy's section exploded as each tried to fight their way to the stage. Calixe shoved his way to the front, grinning.

_Finally._

He stepped up next to the Escort. "Hi."

"Who are you?"

"Calixe. You just called my name. So I guess I'm the tribute, since Fate wills it."

_And if Fate wills it, I will be back here very soon as the Victor._

* * *

District Three

"How are you today, Mrs. Nolo?" Mortimer squinted at the needle, poking the thread at the eye. There was no answer from the sheet-covered shape on the table. He hadn't really expected one, though it was always a possibility that one day his subjects would speak to him.

"Well, I mean, besides the fact that you're dead. What's it like over there?" He stuck the end of the thread in his mouth and tried again to thread the needle. This time it worked. "Is there anything at all?"

He rather thought not. Death was hardly the big mystery everyone seemed to think it was. This was what there was: the heart stopped beating, the body started decomposing, and eventually you were nothing but dust. It was perfectly possible to delay this with various fluids, but in the end everyone that ever lived ended up as nothing more than dirt.

"Even the President will die someday, and he'll be just as dead as you. He'll end up the same way as you, too!" Mortimer flipped the sheet off of the stiff body, grinning down at the old lady. "That's why there's no point in trying, right? If we all die anyways..."

"Mortimer!" The voice - which came from upstairs, not from the dead body on the table - made him jump. "You need to leave soon!"

"But Mom..."

"But what?" Josephine Harris, funeral home director, appeared at the top of the stairs, frowning down at her adoptive son. "You can do that after the Reaping. But you can't go to the town square in that old lab coat."

Mortimer looked down at the stained, threadbare coat. "Why, what's wrong with this?"

His mother sighed. "Go get changed."

"Yes, mother." He set the needle aside and flipped the sheet back up almost tenderly. "I'll be back, Mrs. Nolo. You'll be ready for your funeral, never you fear."

* * *

"...and my main problem with his preliminary outline was the way he was planning on crosswiring the first seven filaments. I mean, the concept might've worked, but he's always lacked a certain _execution_, know what I mean?"

"Absolutely. Remember the time he screwed up on the calculations for his model dilithium chamber and it imploded? Damn near took out the classroom, right?"

Karsa tapped her foot impatiently, watching the line inch forward towards the Peacekeeper at the sign-in desk. The two boys in front of her were deep into a discussion that might as well have been conducted in a foreign language, for all she understood. What was wrong with crosswiring, she would never know. That sort of thing had never really interested her.

The coin she always carried with her flashed gold as she ran it over and under her knuckles, a trick she'd been able to do since third grade. Pretty easy for someone like her, who hated to be still for too long.

"Hey, is there a reason you're wearing such pathetic clothes?" the girl behind her asked, shoving her glasses up the bridge of her nose and frowning at Karsa, looking her up and down. Karsa's eyes narrowed.

"Is there a reason you're so stupid?" she snapped. So what if she was wearing a (rather stained) green shirt and cargo pants that were a couple sizes too big? She hadn't expected to be here today. And a pretty dress wouldn't do her much good in the woods, now, would it?

_Oh, Dante. I'm sorry your plan didn't work. We were so close that time... maybe next try we'll finally get out of here._

Someone cleared their throat and she realized that she was next. She held out her hand for the Peacekeeper, not even flinching when the needle broke her skin. As soon as this was over, she and her brother could go back to planning their next escape. This time, for sure, they'd succeed. This time they'd get out of here.

Dante's little trick had turned off the fence long enough for their plan to almost work. And the Peacekeepers hadn't been able to figure out how he'd done that. Maybe they could use that again...

Unaware that the Escort was onstage, Karsa started running through what she and her brother would have to do to make this next attempt work. Their supplies had been confiscated by the Peacekeepers this time, but that could be built back up. If they tried at night, they'd have a better chance at getting past the guards. The only problem with that was that neither she nor Dante had any idea how to navigate the woods at night-

"Karsa Dell!"

Her head snapped up as her name rang through the square. For a few seconds, she couldn't process this - why was the Escort calling her name?

"Karsa, can you come up here?" the Capitol man asked, frowning.

Aware that every eye in the District was on her, she raised her chin and stalked towards the front, trying to stay calm.

_This I can deal with. This is nothing. I got Reaped? Fine. Bring it on. I can escape the arena and after that Dante and I can get out of this stupid District._

The Escort reached into the boy's bowl. "Mortimer Kerris!"

A short, dark haired boy stepped forward with a look of - was that annoyance? There was no fear there, certainly, though that would have been completely normal. He stepped up beside Karsa, and the girl got a clear whiff of something sharp and chemical. Embalming fluid?

She shivered a bit and edged away from him.

* * *

District Four

"Oh better far to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly..." Humming under her breath, Jacquelyn stood at the bow of her ship, hair blowing in the wind, sword drawn and pointed at the rising sun. "Than play a sanctimonious part, with a pirate head and a pirate heart. Away to the cheating world go you, where pirates are all well-to-do..."

"Capt'n?" Her first mate stood on the deck a few yards away. She ignored him, lost in the moment.

"But I'll be true to the song I sing, and live and die a Pirate King!" She flourished her sword and lept down from the bow. "Though I'd be a Pirate Queen, eh, mate?"

"Aye, sir!" Jack Rackam replied, grinning. "And yer our capt'n, too!"

"The captain of the finest ship to ever sail the ocean, say true." Jacquelyn ran a loving hand over the railing of her ship - which was called the Enterprise, in case you were wondering. And if the Enterprise was really nothing more than a beat-up sailboat outfitted with some stolen guns, if her fine clothes were threadbare castoffs... did it have to matter? They were hers. And she was a pirate Queen.

And her crew was her family.

She glanced at the sun, which was now a few inches above the horizon, and sighed.

"Set a course back to the dock," she ordered. "We have a reaping to attend."

* * *

Raziel tugged the scarf tighter around his face as he watched the Escort stride onstage. He was pretty sure the brown knit didn't exactly match the suit and tie his father had forced him to wear, but he wasn't going anywhere without that scarf. The scar that stretched across his left cheek had faded somewhat over the years, but it was still painfully visible.

_Most Careers have a scar from training. But no, you have to have one from _falling off the roof. _What kind of person even does that?_

He took a deep, calming breath. There was nowhere to meditate at the moment, but he supposed he could do so in the Justice Building after he volunteered.

The Escort made his way over to the girl's bowl. "Jacquelyn Sparrow!"

A few girls tried to volunteer, but the dark haired girl whose name had been called shoved her way to the front, grinning. "Hey, this'll be fun. An adventure, me hearties!"

Raziel frowned. He had never seen this girl at the Training Center - was she even a Career? She seemed to be dressed like one of those pirates from the old books, complete with the skull and crossbones on her hat.

_She's rushing into this without a plan. That's stupid. You always need a plan first._

"I'm a pirate Queen!" she cried, bowing to the Escort.

The Escort ignored her and moved on to the boy's bowl. "Br-"

"I volunteer." True to his calm nature, Raziel did not yell these words at the top of his lungs. And even though everyone else seemed to be screaming and shoving in an attempt to get to the front, somehow he managed to end up onstage next to the Escort and the Pirate girl - who was still grinning from ear to ear, apparently having great fun up here.

"And your name is...?"

"Raziel Arcain." He allowed a small smile to cross his face.

_I'll prove I'm strong. I'll prove it by winning this._

* * *

District Five*

"Well, it is annoying that we have to bring him out for the Reaping. But after what happened last year, we've bribed the mayor into taking his name out of the bowl. Can't do with losing another test subject, eh?"

Rory Lenin pressed his ear against the door, biting his lip as he struggled to make sense of the muffled words. He'd never been all that good at communication, but he knew enough to be able to tell when Dr. Aizen was on the talking-thing with someone in some other room.

A pause, then: "Yes, it was terrible to lose Taylor. But we still have Rory, so that should be enough to occupy us until we get a few more subjects." The emotion in the scientist's voice was not sorrow for the loss of a human girl but disappointment in the loss of a test subject. Rory frowned, clenching his fists.

They had looked so worried the year before, when his fellow experiment, Taylor Lezeret, had been Reaped for the Hundred and First Hunger Games. That had been the only time he had ever seen the head scientist and his second-in-command, Dr. Gin, look even vaguely upset.

_That's a weakness._

And it was something he could use.

The scrape of a key in the lock made him scurry to the other side of the room and pick up a weight, frowning as though he had been exercising the whole time. A brown-haired man poked his head in, a smile on his face.

"Hello, Rory. Are you ready to go outside?" His tone of voice was the kind you might use on a very young child, one that you didn't expect to be able to really understand you.

Rory nodded and dropped the weight. It rolled to the wall, clearly displaying the number '300' on it. He followed the scientist out, keeping his face utterly expressionless.

_I know how to make you upset, Dr. Aizen. And I think I'll do that today._

* * *

A District Five Career wasn't exactly a normal thing. But that had never kept Chelsia Lovemoda's father from pressuring her and her siblings into training for the Hunger Games. And she supposed it was okay, since if she won she would be rich and famous, etc., etc.

As long as she won.

_Oh, I'll win. There's no point in worrying. Eyes on the prize, girl. You'll do just fine._

The Escort was making her way through a long, pointless speech. That was what happened at Reapings. Chelsia tuned it out, because that was also what kids did at Reapings.

Finally, _finally_, the Escort plucked a name from the girl's bowl. "Violette Ash!"

Chelsia promptly sprinted for the front as though a whole District was clamoring to volunteer - which, by the way, they weren't. "I volunteer!"

"I DO TOO!" a booming male voice proclaimed

The Escort froze, eyes wide. "I-I don't think..."

"Chelsia Lovemoda," Chelsia informed the shocked woman, grinning up at her. "And I'm your future Victor!" There. That sounded like a Career-like thing to say, didn't it?

"And your name is?" The Escort turned to the giant, muscular boy next to her. "Though you're really supposed to wait until I pull a name."

"Rory Lenin," the boy grunted. The abnormally large muscles in his arms rippled and Chelsia resisted the urge to shudder. This boy could probably crush her with one hand - no, one _finger_ was more likely.

_But that's okay. There's no way I can lose this. No way at all._ She grinned at the crowd, projecting complete confidence.

* * *

District Six

"You aren't thinking of dong anything stupid, are you, Jevi?"

"Haissu!"

"But really. I think you'd look cute in a cat outfit."

"Haissu?"

"Only if you thought it was okay. 'Sides, Natho'd probably get mad about that."

"Hai-ssuuuuu~"

"I know you don't care what he thinks. But we're living in his head. So we really have no choice."

The boy had light blonde hair that stuck up in the back, as though he had slept in it and never bothered to brush it. There was a small smear of dirt on his right cheek, just under one bright green eye. He paced back and forth in the alleyway outside his house, quite alone. His mouth moved, a deeper voice coming out.

"What's the matter, Jevi?"

"Haissu..." This was in a small, female voice - but it still came from the boy's mouth. At the mouth of the alley, a stray dog paused to watch this conversation he was having with himself.

"Well, I know Natho's a jerk. But you can't blame him for that. And he doesn't need our help, he's a boy. I don't help boys, I only help cute, pathetic little girls like you."

"Haissu!"

"There was no way I could've saved you, Jevi, so don't go all stuck-up on me. How was I supposed to know your brother would go all psycho and stab you?"

The brother in question shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Will you go away?" This voice was softer, squeakier than the other two. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry. But I don't deserve to be stuck with you two for all eternity just 'cause I killed you on accident."

"You deserve it, you whining brat," the male voice snapped through the boy's mouth. "Killing your sister like that? Killing me for trying to beat you up after?"

"Haissu!"

The boy groaned and leaned back against the brick wall beside him, forehead pressed to the cool stone.

_I wish... I wish they'd just go away..._

* * *

Tina had no need to worry today. There was no way someone like her could be Reaped, right? Her father was the mayor, her step-mother the most popular woman in the District. A kid like her - with her name in only four times - had an almost zero chance of getting picked to enter the arena.

So that made today pretty boring.

She had arrived early, as her father expected. No imperfection was allowed in Mayor Hudson's faimly, goodness no. What did it matter if behind closed doors he was a cold, over-demanding parent? What did it matter if she, Tina Hudson, considered the luckiest girl in District Six, was hated by her adoptive family for being the Mayor's bastard daughter?

_You ruined our lives._

_You shouldn't have ever been born._

_You're a disappointment._

Tina shook her head. That didn't matter. They didn't matter.

The space around her was slowly but surely filling up with other sixteen-year-old girls. Their chatter seemed a bit forced, their laughter too loud, with undertones of fear - but who wasn't a bit scared today of all days?

Besides her, of course.

She turned towards the stage and almost fell over. Her arm shot out as she attempted to regain her balance, colliding with the blonde girl beside her. The girl moved away with a hiss of annoyance, but Tina didn't care.

Steady once more, she took a deep breath and surreptitiously glance at the stage to make sure her father hadn't noticed her little mishap. Mayor Hudson was deep in conversation with the Escort, about to begin his speech. He wasn't even looking in his daughter's direction.

_Good. That's good._

For some reason, she'd been having problems with her balance lately. It hadn't begun to affect her ballet (which her father made her do and which she hated) but she was gathering quite the collection of scabs on her chin and elbows from various falls. It was almost as though her body was refusing to respond to the signals her brain sent it.

But it was probably nothing.

Her father took the stage and started in on a long speech. She stared at him, eyes wide and interested as though she was hanging on to every word, even though the girls around her were yawning and whispering among themselves.

The Escort, a no-nonsense old lady with librarian glasses, wasted no time in reaching into the girl's bowl. "Tina Hudson!"

"What?" The word burst from her before she realized it, drawing the stares of those around her. She stumbled up, fear and anger pulsing in her. This was impossible. She wasn't supposed to be Reaped. This shouldn't have happened. Ever.

She was almost at the top of the stairs to the stage when her legs folded under her. She had time for one thought - _oh, please, not now, not here in front of everyone -_ before she crashed down onto the wooden stage. Splinters dug into her palms as she tried to break her fall but only succeeded in sprawling in a very undignified manner at the feet of the Escort.

Face burning, she struggled to her feet. A few cruel chuckles rose from the crowd as she joined the Escort. She could feel her father's disappointed gaze and was at least aware enough to be ashamed of her weakness.

"Natho Trelle!" the Escort called.

A blonde boy stepped from the twelve-year-old section with a grimace on his face. His hair was in a state of such disarray that Tina's first thought was that he'd been through one of those old-fashioned machines they'd read about in school - a windmill. There was a grimace on his face and an odd, dark light in his eyes. He glared at the Escort and Tina alike as he ascended the stairs.

_I can't do this. I can't go into the arena with twenty-three other kids and even dare to hope that I'll get out alive. _Tina shot a despairing glance at her father, but he wasn't even looking at her.

_I'm going to die, aren't I?_

* * *

***If you haven't read by 101st Hunger Games you might want to at least check out the first reaping chapter and goodbyes because Taylor's probably gonna get referenced a bit. Since Rory's, you know, Rory.**

**...is it okay that I'm not putting all that much effort into these? Besides, like, setting up what personality these tributes have. Gah, the reapings are so repetitive. Sorry for the sucky writing. I'll try harder with the later chapters?**

**Anyways. Hope you liked the first twelve tributes. And they're pretty interesting, too. Favorites so far?**


	3. Reapings Part Two: Good Morning

**Reapings Part Two: Districts Seven Through Twelve**

* * *

District Seven

"We were both young when I first saw you, I close my eyes and the flashback starts, I'm standing there..."

Marianne hummed the old American song under her breath as she got dressed. She had a day off (because Hunger Games) but she still liked to sing, so... just 'cause she wasn't getting paid didn't mean she shouldn't sing if she wanted to, right?

It was a pretty good life. Getting paid to perform for the mayor and his family every night... getting to eat those really good caramels they had there...

Caramels. She loved caramels. **  
**

She stepped into her skirt and overbalanced, falling flat on her bottom. "Fucking hell!" She tried to stand up but only ended up tangling herself further. "Shit!"

"Marianne?" her mother called up the stairs. "Are you all right?"

"...fine," she yelled, standing up and yanking the skirt on. "I'm fine."

"You'll be late for the Reaping!"

"I'm coming!" She pulled on a shirt - because it would be bad to walk out of the house without one - and started down the stairs.

* * *

In Kile's humble opinion, the Hunger Games were pretty ridiculous. Killing people for fun? That was pretty stupid. Plus the whole thing was just one big adventure. And people like him - nice, normal Bagons of District Seven - did _not_ go on adventures.

Ever.

"Good morning!" The high-pitched voice of their Escort made him wince and cover his ears. Oh, how he wanted this to be over so he could go home and eat second breakfast. And after that, elevenses. And after that, luncheon... afternoon tea... dinner... supper...

Eating was very important.

"Let's start right off with the girls, huh?" the Escort squealed into the mike. She reached in, smiling brightly. "Marianne Vierro!"

Some random girl walked up. Kile paid her no heed. Too bad she was going to die, but whatever.

"Kile Bagon!"

"..."

"..."

"...but I don't want to go on an adventure. I hate adventures."

"Well, sucks for you. Now come up here."

* * *

District Eight

Being blind sucked.

It wasn't the fact that she tended to run into things, though that was pretty terrible. It was more the pity she got from everyone else, the way they all offered to help her like they actually cared.

They had no idea how much life sucked. They would never know. Ignorant bastards.

"Tirre?"

She turned her head to where her mother's voice came from. "What do you want?" Her voice was flat, bitter - which was how it always sounded.

_It's her fault. Her fault I'm blind like this. She should've stopped that son of a bitch that called himself my father before it got this far._

"It's almost time for the Reaping."

"I'm not going." Her hands twisted around her blankets, bunching the fabric. "I don't want to go."

"You know you have to, sweetie." Footsteps as her mother drew closer, then a warm hand on her arm. "Let me help you down the stairs`"

"No!" Tirre slapped her mother's hand away. "I don't need your help! I want Tyrion to help me, where's Tyrion?"

"You know where he is, honey. He got hurt, remember? He's at the hospital and he can't help you. Maybe you'll have to make do with me." Her mother's tone of voice was sharper now, and Tirre felt a surge of savage pleasure at that. Let her mother be upset. It was a taste of what Tirre had to live with every single day of her life.

* * *

When the Escort strode onstage, Alexei had to resist the urge to snicker. The Capitol man was shirtless, displaying a muscular body that could only have been surgically enhanced. Ever since the MUSCLES AW YEAH tribute last year - the one from District Eight - muscles had become a 'thing' in the Capitol.

"What a weirdo," he said to the boy beside him, pitching his voice just loud enough for it to carry. "Have you noticed? They idolize the children they lead to the slaughter. What kind of twisted-"

"Shut up!" The boy gestured frantically for him to be quiet. "D'you wanna be killed or something?"

"Ehehe~" Alexei grinned, grey eyes dancing with mirth. "Only if it's fun."

"Tirre Etolles!" the Escort called into the mike. Apparently while Alexei hadn't been paying attention, the female name had been called.

A girl stepped from the twelve-year-old section, fists clenched, whole body trembling. There were furious tears streaming from her milky white eyes. Alexei had time to wonder how she was walking if she was blind before she stumbled and fell in the dirt, hands reaching out to break her fall.

"Someone want to help her up here?" the Escort drawled. Alexei shot him a glance, and - no, that couldn't be. The Escort was _amused_ by this display of utter pathos?

_Screw him. And screw the Capitol, too._

Two Peacekeepers took the girl by the elbows and carried her up, dumping her unceremoniously next to the Escort. Tirre snarled and slapped their hands away as soon as her feet were planted. Alexei had to admire a girl with that kind of courage.

Meanwhile, the Escort had reached into the boy's bowl. "Devix Star!"

A sudden urge to do something very, very stupid came over Alexei and - true to his nature - he immediately acted on it. "I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

_Such an epically Katniss Everdeen thing to do. Right?_

He strode up to the front, grinning. "Alexei Ryant," he informed the world. The Escort, looking a little nonplussed, motioned for him to shake Tirre's hand.

"That was so totally worth it," he whispered to his District partner.

* * *

District Nine

"Um... is there any particular reason you're staring at me? Because it's weird."

Harora Aldred continued to gaze at the brown-haired girl, an impassive expression on her face. "Caught in the crossfire. Blood on your white dress. It's the man's fault for trying to break in, but the shopkeeper shouldn't have pulled his gun out."

"Excuse me?"

She shut her red eyes - and no, they weren't natural, but she was well-off enough to be able to afford contacts - and smiled a smile that she knew would freak out the other girl. "Have fun dying."

"Freak." The girl hurried away, glancing back over her shoulder nervously.

_It's not my fault. It isn't my fault that I know and you are doomed to the ignorance of life._

How long had it been since this had started? Five years? It was long enough, anyways. Long enough to be sure that this was the truth.

Elurin would have been eighteen by now. This would have been his last time eligible for the Reaping... if he hadn't been Reaped. And if he hadn't died like she'd said he would.

It was her duty to tell others. They had a right to know, and if she was the only one with that information, then the responsibility of spreading that information naturally fell on her. It was logical.

_"You'll die next week, you'll go to the Reaping and then get killed on the first day of the Games."_

Elurin hadn't thought she was right. He'd laughed at her. But when his name was called - when she saw him in the Justice Building - that had been fear in his eyes, because she'd told him this would happen. And when he'd gotten impaled by the District Four boy the first day of the Games, when the cameras had zoomed in on his dying face for a split second...

Surely he'd admitted she was right, that last moment.

Harora sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand.

_I almost wish I could see my own death. Almost._

* * *

"That is no Orc horn," Earendil proclaimed as the Escort tapped the microphone for silence.

"...no duh," the boy next to him muttered.

Earendil ignored him. An Elven prince like him - especially one as awesome as him - had no need of humans like those that surrounded him.

The Escort smiled at the crowd. "Ehehe... y'all ready for this?" When he received no response, he offered a weak grin and reached into the boy's bowl. "Harora Aldred?"

A dark haired girl stepped up. She peered into the Capitol man's eyes for several long seconds. "A train," she informed the Escort. "You will slip and fall. There's ice. It won't be instantly fatal. You'll be in a coma in the hospital until your mother decides to pull the plug."

"What?"

But the girl didn't have anything else to say.

"Well, then." The Escort looked a bit freaked out. "Boys next?" He reached into the second bowl. "Earendil Gilestel!"

"I just got Reaped," Earendil noted. Because stating the obvious was what he was good at. That and shooting Orcs with his bow and arrows.

He joined the Escort on the stage, smiling slightly at him. "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

"..."

* * *

District Ten

The gravestone was spotted with soft green lichen, the gray stone a bit worn despite the fact that it was only a year old. Anarion stood in front of it, his dark tracks visible on the dewy grass.

"Good morning, big brother." The boy's dark hair fell in his face as he bent to drop a small white flower on his brother's grave. "It's Reaping morning again."

There was no answer. He'd never really expected one.

"I'm planning on volunteering today," he whispered. "Do you think Dad will notice me if I do?"

_I thought killing you would change things, but I guess it didn't. You're still his favorite, even if you're dead._

Isildur had been the one his father had loved, the only one he ever paid attention to. And Anarion had thought he could fix that by killing his older brother. He'd done it quietly, made it look like an accident. No one had ever seen it as anything but an accident, a tragedy. He'd been so sure his father would love him then, treasure him as the only son he had left...

_Looks like it didn't work._

He picked up a stone and hurled it into the stand of trees that stood nearby. "He cried for days, you know. And then he just sat there and stared off into space. And whenever I'd come and try to talk to him, he'd stare right through me. Like he wanted to see someone else where I stood."

He stood, glaring down at the silent gravestone.

_"Do you know what he said when I asked him about it? If he wished that our places had been exchanged? That I had died and you had lived?" Anarion's face twisted with bitter emotion. "He said... he said he did wish that."_

* * *

People were fascinating. At least in Annelisa's opinion.

Take this girl in front of her, for instance. Long brown hair, smile on her face, no sign of the skinniness that came with having to scrounge for food every day. She looked happy enough, chattering away with the girl next to her. But look a bit closer, and you'd see the bruises on her arms and legs, the strained quality in her smile.

You could find out a lot about a person just by looking at them. It was funny how few people seemed willing to watch others for long enough to learn anything.

But in general, people were pretty stupid. That was why Annelisa didn't like them all that much.

The Peacekeeper seized her hand and drove the needle in, smearing her blood on the sign-in page. Annelisa winced but didn't say anything. This Peacekeeper was the one that hung out near the PK headquarters. He seemed new to his job, and was almost never seen alone. He was probably frightened, and chose to hide it by being aggressive.

She was one of the last ones into the town square. The Escort was already onstage, the mayor was done with his speech, and the video had played.

The Escort reached into the girl's bowl. "Annelisa Oragen!"

_That's my name. The Escort just read my name._ Eyes wide, Annelisa looked around at the other children. Already they were drawing away, as if afraid to be near someone who was going to die. Because that was what this really was - a death sentence.

She walked up in silence, ignoring the whispers of the crowd. The Escort had already reached into the boy's bowl - he seemed eager to be done with this.

"Tyler-"

"I volunteer!" A boy with longish dark hair strode up, a desperate light in his eyes. Annelisa saw immediately that he wasn't doing this because of any sort of emotional attachment to the boy whose name had been called. She did wonder why he would volunteer for death like that, though. Because that seemed like a stupid thing to do.

"And you are?" The Escort looked a bit surprised, and understandably so - District Ten didn't get many volunteers.

"Anarion Elendili." The boy seemed to be looked off into the audience as if searching for someone. He must not have seen whoever it was, because his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

Annelisa continued to stare at him. It was her good luck that she would be entering the arena with such a fascinating human being. She would enjoy analyzing him over the next few days.

* * *

District Eleven

"Well, hello." Radagast leaned down, hand out, frowning slightly at the baby bird on the path. "You seem to have fallen, my dear. Do you need some help?" He lifted it gently, cupping it in his dirt-stained fingers.

It stirred slightly and his kind, open face broke into a sunny smile. "There you are! Let's get you back to your nest, eh?" He gathered up his knobbly wooden staff, straightened his ragged hat, and set off down the path, cradling the baby bird in one hand.

"You don't seem very hurt, so that's good. You'll be just fine as soon as we get you back to your mother." He paused, looking up. "Ah! There's your nest!"

The mother bird poked her head out of the nest and tweeted a few notes. -_Good morning.-_

"Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?" Radagast frowned. "I mean. That's something Gandalf'd be more likely to say, but since he's my best friend I doubt he's bothered by the fact that I just stole his line."

The bird let out another trill and Radagast laughed. "You're quite clever, Madame Robin."

* * *

Violet adjusted the book under her arm as she passed the Peacekeeper, hoping that he wouldn't try to confiscate it. She had to have something to occupy herself with during the Reaping, after all. A genius like her - an IQ of 180 _did_ give her the right to say that - shouldn't even be here. But it was what the Capitol expected, so...

Ignoring the way the others around her stared, she opened the book and started to read.

The Escort came onstage, but Violet was far more interested in this analysis of the human brain. Certain evolutionary ideas might have been adapted to fit this study, ideas that might be seen now as outdated - but that didn't make it any less fascinating.

It didn't matter that she was pretty much friendless. All she needed were her books. And she was so much smarter than all of them - a very satisfying feeling, to be honest.

"Violet Oria!"

An ordinary girl might have started freaking out right now. But Violet was anything but ordinary. So instead of bursting into tears, she folded down the corner of her page and made her way up to the front, face absolutely emotionless.

_A fascinating development. Perhaps if I act sweet and innocent, the Capitol will like me more? Though that angle is rather overused. Perhaps playing up my genius level IQ would help. _

Then again, if the Careers saw that she was smart, they might try to kill her. And that would never do.

Meanwhile, the Escort reached into the boy's bowl. "Teras Fonniase!"

A boy dressed up like a giant rabbit started for the stage, but before he could reach it another boy - this one dressed in stained brown robes, oddly enough - lept forward.

"I can't let an innocent woodland creature die! I VOLUNTEER!"

"..."

"I'm Radagast. Radagast the Brown!"

The Escort cleared his throat. "Well, Radagast Brown-"

"No. Radagast _the_ Brown," the boy corrected cheerfully, absolutely unaware of how weird this situation was.

"...okay. Congrats on being the tribute for District Eleven...?"

* * *

District Twelve

"Got any food?"

Thorin looked up as his cousin entered the room. "No, I do not have any food. And you need to focus on things other than that, Kili. Have you been practicing archery lately?"

The dark-haired boy shrugged, grinning. "Sure I have. Any idea where the rest of the gang is?" The 'rest of the gang' meaning, of course, the other eleven members of their friend group: Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Balin, Dwalin, and Kili's twin brother Fili.

"No." But they were probably off getting into some sort of trouble - trouble that he, Thorin II Oakenshield son of Thráin son of Thrór, would end up having to rescue them from.

"I'll find 'em, then."

Thorin watched as his young cousin skipped off to find his friends. The lad had much to learn about the world - he and his brother Fili were the youngest of the group, and were about as innocent and carefree (not to mention reckless and mischievous) as anyone he had met.

But they were his heirs. And one day they would have to grow up.

_Curse those Elves. And curse that dragon. If it weren't for them we would be safe under the Mountain, in our own realm. We would not be forced to live among Men like this._

His hand crept to the large chunk of oak that had earned him his name. He lived for the day when he could use it as a weapon of revenge, fitting payment for all he and his people had suffered.

_Revenge. _

* * *

Amabel's nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists, glaring at the Escort as she strode onstage. Stupid Capitol with their stupid Games, instituting rules of death for their own entertainment. Was there anything more sickening?

And the way her mother watched and rewatched the replays of the Hunger Games on their television, the way she was so entranced by the blood and the screams and the deaths... that, too, was sickening.

She took a deep breath and focused on the Escort's moving lips. Her words were drowned out by the rushing noise in her ears, but Amabel continued to stare nonetheless. She couldn't afford to lose her temper here, in front of everybody. If she lost it again, if her mouth started spewing all the hatred she harbored towards the Capitol and its Games... well, then, what happened last time would likely happen again.

Her hand crept towards the scar on her face, the barely noticeable one under her right eyebrow. Had the Peacekeeper's whip struck her a bit lower, she might have lost her eye.

The Escort stuck one hand into the first glass bowl and withdrew a slip of paper. "Amabel Lattimer!"

For a few seconds she was rooted to the ground, unable to move. Fury pulsed through her, white hot - but if she lost control here and now, who knew what would happen?

Somehow she forced her feet to walk her up to the stage. She took her place beside the Escort, refusing to look at the Capitol woman.

"Thorin Oakenshield!"

A dark haired boy stepped from the eighteen-year-old section and stomped up. He was carrying what looked like a piece of wood in one hand. How odd.

"District Twelve, I present to you your tributes of the Hundred and Second Hunger Games: Amabel Lattimer and Thorin Oakenshield. May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

* * *

**And with that, we have all twenty-four tributes. Let me know what you think? I've realized that more than a third of them are references to something... which is okay. And they're pretty blatant, especially in this chapter.**

**Next chapter is train rides (I'm not doing goodbyes this time. Maybe I'll do an extra Capitol chapter instead. Thoughts?)**

**Sup, peace and joyce, Earendil used the same line as Maya. I kinda just realized that, haha...**

**HEY EVERYBODY: Hungergameslover1021 has a SYOT that you should submit to, because it looks pretty awesome. Go submit. Right now.**


	4. Train Rides: What I Have Left Behind

**Train Rides (in reverse District order!)**

* * *

District Twelve

"So your name is Thorin?" Amabel looked her District partner up and down, smiling.

"I am Thorin II Oakenshield son of Thráin son of Thrór, Heir of Durin, King under the Mountain," the dark-haired boy replied automatically. "Only the thrice-damned dragon Smaug invaded and killed everyone and drove us out. And that idiotic Elvenking Tharanduil refused to help us. Him and his elk."

Amabel blinked. "Do you even live in the same world as the rest of us?"

Though it would probably be useful to have a semi-insane District partner. Because insane people were often easier to manipulate. And being around him didn't make her angry - unlike most of humanity. Just listening to the Escort made her want to rip someone's eyes out. But Thorin was different.

"I will have my revenge. Some day."

"...whatever you say, bro."

"One does not adress the Heir of Durin as 'bro'," Thorin replied haughtily.

* * *

District Eleven

"So. Your robe is pretty dirty. Are you going to change at some point?"

Radagast looked up from his plate of food, frowning. "I like my robe. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing." Just her luck. The smartest tribute - IQ of 180, etc., etc. - was stuck with a simple-minded hippie.

"I brought a friend," Radagast said brightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a robin. Violet stepped back, eyes wide. "No need to be frightened. She just wanted to see something other than the orchards of District Eleven. And who can blame her for that?" He stroked the bird's feathers with one dirty finger. "I'll let her go once we stop for fuel. She can make it back on her own."

"Then you don't expect to be going back?" It was a pretty rhetorical question. Violet knew that this idiot wasn't ever going to survive long.

"Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger," Radagast replied cryptically. "Though that really only applies to the others of my order."

"Your... order."

"Gandalf and Saruman and... and... the other two. No one ever remembers their names anyways so that doesn't matter." Radagast grinned.

* * *

District Ten

Annelisa watched as Anarion loaded his plate with a giant piece of cake. The boy was on his fourth helping and showed no signs of stopping any time soon.

"So..." she said quietly. He didn't seem to notice. She cleared her throat and tried again. "So."

This time he looked up. "Yes?"

"Y-you volunteered." Curse her social awkwardness. This was the boy she'd probably be spending her last days on this earth with and she was coming off as a stammering idiot in their very first conversation. Good for her.

"I did." There was a flicker of anger in his dark eyes as he said this. She kept on staring at him. What an interesting person this was...

"And you were looking for someone, once you were onstage." There we go. Use those powers of observation, Annelisa. "Was there someone you wanted to see?"

Anarion's fists clenched."He didn't even come," he whispered as if to himself. "He didn't even come to say goodbye and I did it for-"

_Did it for him. Whoever 'he' is. _Annelisa frowned. This was absolutely fascinating.

"Who'd you leave behind?"

"What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved," Anarion spat, attitude changing entirely. Annelisa half expected him to draw a sword and swear an oath or something, but he merely turned away, trembling visibly with anger.

"...sorry for asking, then," she mumbled.

* * *

District Nine

"You were saying some pretty odd stuff to the Escort," Earendil noted. "Any particular reason for that?"

Harora mumbled something under her breath that the Elf couldn't quite make out.

"Something about death and dying. It was pretty dark. And morbid." He was good at stating the obvious.

"I can see your death." It was the first intelligible thing she'd said all day.

"So you can see how people die?"

"Yes."

"How do I die?" Well, he was an Elf. So even if he did die he'd just go hang out in the Halls of Mandos for awhile before getting reborn. It had happened to Glorfindel, who'd apparently even come back from Valinor to hang out (though Eru alone knew why someone would be insane enough to do that). He had heard something about Fëanor not getting let out, though, which might have had something to do with a certain Oath and a bunch of Kinslaying. But he wasn't too sure about that. And all of that was pretty off-topic anyways.

"Do you want to know? Really?" Harora stared at him with those creepy red eyes.

"Perhaps not," Earendil admitted. "Why don't we just have some food?" He held up a wafer of golden-brown bread. "Lembas!"

* * *

District Eight

"Want some food?"

"No."

"Something to drink?"

"No."

"...anything?"

"Just 'cause I'm blind doesn't mean you have to baby me," Tirre snapped.

"Sorry." Alexei grinned sheepishly. "I just wanted to be helpful."

"Then you should've stayed home today. Why the hell did you volunteer, anyways?"

"Because I wanted to be like KATNISS EVERDEEN and say 'I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!' as epically as she did~"

"That's stupid," Tirre replied bluntly.

"Not really. Know what's stupid? The Capitol and their Hunger Games."

"If you say so." But there might have been grudging respect in her voice now for Alexei's vaguely rebellious words.

"If it was up to me, I'd kill all the Gamemakers and the President and all of 'em. They're so sick and twisted, taking pleasure in watching kids kill each other. And the way the Hunger Games have infiltrated out lives - well, we know about the Careers. They're the product of the Capitol. Sure, some of 'em are evil, but they're just as much the victims of this as we are." Alexei's voice increased in pitch as he spoke, warming to the subject. "We should overthrow the Capitol again. Only this time make it stick."

"Do you think that's possible?" Tirre's milky white eyes were fixed on Alexei as if she could actually see him.

"I'm no Katniss Everdeen, I could never do something like that. But there's always hope." Alexei smiled.

Tirre didn't reply.

* * *

District Seven

"Adventures are always a bad idea. Who knows what could happen out there, in the Wild? No, I am a Bagon of District Seven and I will not be going on any adventures." Kile crossed his arms and stared out the train window at the forest whizzing by.

"Looks like you're stuck on an adventure," Marianne noted.

"Me? Never!"

"You're going into the Hunger Games. That's a pretty fucking big adventure. I'm pretty sure that's why this story is classified as Adventure/Friendship." Marianne shrugged. "But if you want to sit and sulk, that's your own goddamn business."

"Has anyone ever told you that you swear like a sailor?"

"Oh, often." The brown haired girl gave him an icy smile. "I've also been told that I sing like an angel. Want to hear?"

"Not really."

"Too bad." And with that she launched into a rather bawdy bartune that made Kile flush bright red and hurry out of the compartment in search of saner - and more civilized - company.

* * *

District Six

"Haissu!" Natho stuck his head into the compartment, grinning at Tina, who was sitting at the table eating some cake.

"What exactly does that mean?" she asked, pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth.

"Haissu?"

"Yeah, that."

"Haissu!"

"...you're not really answering my question."

"Haissu."

Tina sighed. Was she with some insane idiot, then? Just her luck.

Nato cleared his throat. "Sorry," he said in a deeper voice. Tina looked up in surprise. "I did not mean to scare you, my lady. Would you like me to serve you as a token of my apology?"

_That was an abrupt change._ Tina blinked. "Um. Actually, I'll be right back." She stood up and moved towards the door.

Predictably enough, that was exactly when her legs chose to give out. She tumbled forward, a shriek rising in her throat - only to find herself in Natho's arms. The taller boy had moved surprisingly quickly, catching her just before she hit the carpeted floor.

_There's definitely something wrong. Why do I keep on falling?_

"Are you alright?" Natho was still supporting her weight, as her legs seemed to be refusing to hold her up. "Do you need me to get some help?"

She tried to respond, but found that she couldn't. Natho's dark eyes were wide with fear as he lowered her to the ground. "I'll go get the Escort. I'll be... I'll be right back, okay?"

Tina watched him leave, terror pulsing in her as she lay helplessly on the ground, unable to move.

_What's wrong with me?_

* * *

District Five

"So. You look like a pretty strong boy." Chelsia looked her District partner up and down critically, green eyes bright. "Maybe the Careers will let you in, too." Because she was obviously getting in, since she'd been trained and all that.

"Careers. Those are the ones that can use knives and stuff?" Rory tilted his head to one side.

"Um... yeah. Where have you been all your life? Like, who the heck doesn't know what Careers are?" She brushed back her red hair, frowning. Maybe this boy wasn't Career-worthy. Maybe all that muscle meant that he had no brains to speak of.

"I've been in a lab, getting strong."

"...a lab." Well, that certainly explained the muscles. And the lack of general knowledge. And the fact that Rory didn't use any vocabulary above a first grade level.

"With Dr. Aizen," Rory replied. "He made me strong. That's what he said, anyways."

Chelsia nodded, comprehension dawning on her thin face. "Like that girl from last year. Tara or something. She was an experiment too, right?"

"Taylor." He looked away, sadness creeping onto his features. "She died."

"...sorry?"

His face hardened. "You Careers don't know nothing about real pain. Why should I come with you? I'll fight alone."

A pause, then Chelsia rolled her eyes. "Whatever." And with that, she turned towards the window and proceeded to ignore her partner for the rest of the train ride.

* * *

District Four

"So you're some kinda pirate or something?" Raziel adjusted his blue scarf and watched as Jacquelyn paced back and forth, twirling a star-shaped sapphire pendant set in gold. It swung on its long chain, glittering in the sunlight that streamed through the train window.

"Sure am! I'm a Pirate Queen." The dark haired girl hopped up onto the table nimbly and managed to avoid knocking the delicate glasses off. "See this?" She held the pendant out, dangling it in Raziel's face.

"I see it." He pushed it away and took a step back.

"Looted. From an innocent cargo ship." She grinned a wolf-like smile and started twirling the pendant again. "Hey, this'll be a real adventure, won't it?"

"The Hunger Games?"

"Sure."

"If you want to see it like that." He, personally, was only doing this to prove that he was strong. But he wasn't going to tell this girl that she was wrong - it wouldn't do to offend a possible ally so early in the game.

"You'll have to let me be captain, of course." She put her hands on her hips, smirking down at Raziel.

He paused to consider this. This girl - he'd never seen her at the Training Center. He was fairly sure she spent most of her time with a ragtag group of social outcasts, playing down by the docks. That was probably where the 'Pirate Queen' fantasy had emerged. But again, he couldn't afford to offend her, especially if it turned out that she was actually strong.

"I cannot speak for the other Careers," he said carefully, "but I myself would be willing to follow you." There. Perfect.

"Do I have your oath on it?" She lept down from the table and approached him, dark eyes unsmiling.

_This girl is pretty smart. _"My oath? Of course." He smiled at her. "I swear I will follow you... captain."

* * *

District Three

"Are you going to eat anything?" Karsa asked her District partner, gesturing to the table piled with food. She herself had eaten enough of those puffy pink cakes - god, they were _amazing _- that she wasn't quite sure she could move.

"I'm not hungry," Mortimer replied, pale, sunken eyes fixed on her. She shuddered a bit every time he looked at her.

"Really?" she asked, making an effort to be friendly since she was probably going to be dying very soon. "You look pretty skinny. Maybe some food'd be good. You need to be strong if you want to have a chance in the arena."

"There's no point," he muttered.

"Excuse me?"

He yawned and stretched. "We all end up dead anyways. There's no point in trying."

"What a pessimistic outlook on life."

"Besides, dead people are more fun to talk to," Mortimer added. "I'd rather hang out with dead people than live ones."

"...and where are you hanging out with dead people?" Karsa asked, suddenly afraid that her District partner was some kind of mass murderer.

"Funeral home."

"Of course." Which was no less creepy. But better than the idea that Mortimer kept his victims in his closet or something.

"Death is fascinating. It really is," Mortimer said earnestly, nodding his head, pale eyes wide.

"If you say so."

* * *

District Two

"Fate will see me to victory," Calixe said.

"Whatever you say, bro." Kalliope grinned, trying to seem sweet and innocent and very not-trained/not-a-threat. "Want some pudding?"

"Wait. Let me see if Fate wants me to eat this pudding." He pulled out a coin and flipped it.

Kalliope pushed back a surge of annoyance. What an idiot, believing in Fate and all that. As if there was really some greater power in this world. No, all there was was survival of the fittest, a constant struggle for power. The strongest won, not those favored by some idea of 'Fate'.

And she was the strongest.

But as long as she knew that and no one else did, she had the advantage. So if she kept up this sweet-and-innocent act... well, she'd be that much better than everyone else there.

* * *

District One

"I'M A KING, BITCH!"

Katica facepalmed. Her District partner's constant yelling was getting annoying.

"Must you be so loud?" The compartment door slid open and a grey-haired boy poked his head in. "I was trying to take a nap."

"...aren't you supposed to be our mentor?" Katica asked. Because it was pretty obvious that this was the infamous Ferro Rete, Victor of the Ninety-eight Hunger Games, mentor of District One.

"So?"

"...so shouldn't you be helping us?"

"Why would I want to help you?" Ferro asked, smirking. "Come back when you've won. That's what I tell everyone I mentor, in case you were wondering."

"You should help me because I'm a king. I mean. I'M A KING SO I DON'T NEED HELP!" Grimmjow proclaimed.

"That's the kind of attitude I like." Ferro turned and left. "If you need me, I'll be taking a nap. So don't need me."

"How incredibly helpful," Katica scowled.

* * *

**Hungergameslove10201 wants me to tell you there are still some spots open in her SYOT.**

**So this chapter pretty much started with the tributes that are references (and we all know how seriously I took those scenes, right?). And they seemed to get longer. And then Ferro showed up just to be Ferro. So yeah. Um...**

**The little Tina-incident will be resolved next chapter. Probably. (****Next chapter: parade).**


	5. Parade: Fading Crown

**Parade (Gamemaker point of view)**

* * *

_Progressive, degenerative disease... genetic... no known treatment or cure. __Slowly progressive incoordination of gait... loss of control of muscles... atrophy of the cerebellum. _Words she had never heard before. Words she would have been perfectly happy with never hearing ever in her life.

"Tina? Are you okay?"

Natho's concerned voice made her look up and brush the tears from her eyes. Her District partner stood awkwardly at one end of the lobby, looking down at her. "Y-yeah, I'm fine." _No, I'm not. I'm not fine and I wasn't ever fine and I'll never be fine again._

"The Escort said the Capitol doctor could probably tell us what was wrong. Did he?" Natho crossed to Tina and stood above her, shadow falling on her lap. Tina stared down at her hands, which were trembling - another symptom, or so the doctor had told her.

Natho must have misinterpreted her silence, because he sat down next to her with a small sigh. "Hey, no need to worry. It's probably something they can fix really easily." He patted her clumsily on the arm. "Medical stuff wasn't ever my strong suit but I've heard they've got all sorts of imaging scanners and medical... inter-body circuitry?"

Tina wondered if he knew how ridiculous he sounded, trying to pretend he knew what he was talking about.

"So they'll fix you up just fine, okay? I don't want to see a girl like you so scared, huh? Girls should be protected from stuff that scares them." Casual sexism seemed to be Natho's specialty.

Tina looked away, bottom lip quivering. "They said... they said I have _spinocerebellar ataxia,_" she whispered. The words sounded odd and unnatural in her mouth.

"What's that?" Natho frowned. "Never heard of it."

"It means I'm going to die." And wouldn't it have been better to not know, to just be able to go into the arena without knowing that she was going to die no matter what happened? But the Escort had dragged her straight here after finding her curled up on the floor of the train compartment, unable to move, and after hours of scans and prodding fingers and lights shining in her eyes, the doctor had pulled her aside and told her.

_I'm going to die. But I knew that anyways. It was only a matter of time..._

_But why didn't I at least get a chance?_

"That's impossible." Natho stood, face darkening with anger, and Tina found herself shrinking back involuntarily. "You can't just give up and die!"

"It's not like I have a choice," she snapped, clenching her fists.

_And once my mind's degenerated enough, will I still have the control to do as simple and instinctive an action as that? Moving my hands... walking... talking, even. They said it's only a matter of time._

_I'll lose it all, won't I?_

"Haissu?" There it was again, that softer, almost feminine voice issuing from Natho's mouth. He looked down at Tina, head tilted to one side.

"Stop that!" Tina yelled, standing up - and this time her legs held her, this time but maybe not next time. "Stop playing around! This is all I have left and you will not waste my time playing around!"

"Hai-" Natho's body convulsed and his head snapped back. Tina froze - was he having some sort of seizure? Should she get help?

"Natho...?"

His eyes flew open and he launched himself at her, snarling, fingers reaching for her throat. She shrieked and fell back, banging her hip against one of the waiting room chairs, sending it crashing to the floor. Natho's face was a mask of anger and insanity as he rammed into her, and for the first time in her life she was truly afraid.

_I don't even have to wait to get into the arena. He's going to kill me right here and right now._

"Stop this!" The door flew open and the Escort strode in, followed by two Peacekeepers. The white-uniformed men wasted no time in grabbing Natho and pinning his arms behind his back. He struggled for a few seconds, literally spitting with rage, before going limp.

Tina stared at him, panting, feeling her whole body tremble. The room was suddenly very quiet.

Natho's eyes opened again, clear and confused and most definitely sane. "What just happened?"

* * *

"Parade time?" Sansa yawned. "Must we really? Seeing such peasants as these in fine clothes is annoying. They have no sense of style, no appreciation for the way the stylists have to work on such short notice."

"It's their one chance to impress people. Besides the interviews. I think it's written somewhere that we have to give them a parade, right, Azuki?" Merete deferred to the red-haired Gamemaker, as usual.

"A parade not only allows the Capitol to view the tributes in a new setting, but it also distinguishes those that carry themselves with confidence from those who only wish to get through it," Azuki said, nodding.

"Big words~" Rowena grinned. "Makes you sound smart, Azuki." Beside her, Regina slept. Which she always did.

Kushana exchanged a glance with Isis, who was observing the others over the edge of her book. Dany wasn't even paying attention to them - she seemed to be discussing something with the President via her communications link.

"How goes the arena design?" Kushana asked, moving closer to Isis.

"It's going well. A few final touches, and..." She smiled. "Should be fun."

"I'm looking forward to it." Because, you know, seeing kids in pain had always been something Kushana enjoyed. "Has Sansa been giving you a hard time over the fact that you got the designer spot and she didn't?"

Isis shrugged. "Sansa hasn't ever been able to stay mad at me for long."

"Lucky you." Kushana could remember quite vividly several times where she had earned the blonde's (quite justified) fury. But Sansa had always liked Isis better. Just like Dany. And the twins had always loved Sansa. And Merete and Azuki were always together.

_So who do I get?_

She was forced to terminate this self-indulgent reflection by the blare of trumpets through the speakers set high in the wall. The doors were opening, the chariots emerging.

"Are you all ready?" Dany asked, switching off her comm screen. "Let's see who we have this year~" She flicked another switch, activating the microphones built into the chariots.

District One was - for some reason - not wearing matching outfits as they usually did, but Kushana had to admit that the tributes managed to pull it off. The girl was in a red and black dress that fluttered about her legs, which were encased in delicate black lace stockings. The whole outfit sparkled with diamonds and rubies and what looked like actual filigreed gold. The boy wore a long, midnight black cloak over armor inlayed with gold and chain mail. On his head was a helm-like crown, wrought of pearl and silver, wing-like sides swept upwards. A single jewel shone like a star in the center.

"I'M A KING, BITCH!"

"Do you ever stop saying that?" Katica sighed, sounded annoyed. She spoke through her teeth, keeping a bright smile on her face for the crowd.

"See, I've even got a crown. It's a pretty kick-ass crown, too. BOW TO ME!"

"Calm down, Grimmjow. It's just an outfit."

"ALL SHALL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR!"

The cameras didn't quite catch Katica facepalming, which was probably a good thing.

District Two was also wearing armor. The girl wore a cut-off armor top that showed her tan stomach and a metal skirt, as well as a pair of bright bronze boots that wouldn't have done much good on a real battlefield. She held her helmet under one arm and waved cheerfully to the crowd. The boy looked a bit less happy in matching armor (though he wore a tunic rather than a skirt).

"Cheer up, Cal. Isn't this fun?" Kalliope chirped.

"Fate did not want me to wear this outfit," the tall boy grumbled. "The coin toss did not say that the helmet was a good idea." He tugged on said headwear, which was gold-cast, with a dragon on the top and a gold visor. It was fairly fearsome looking.

"I thought it looked cool," Rowena commented to Sansa.

"Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin much?" Isis said, grinning.

Kushana wondered how even the stylists were in on the reference-making.

District Three had its usual electricity thing going. They were both all in blue. The boy had small, glittering computer chips glued everywhere, while the girl's was adorned with silver lightning-bolts. Both had wide arcs of electricity leaping from them into the air, which never failed to make an impression on the crowd. Neither the boy nor the girl was waving at the crowd.

"Are we absolutely sure these won't electrocute us?" Karsa stood stock-still, eyes darting about nervously. She seemed afraid to move.

"Whatever," Mortimer yawned. "We all die in the end."

"Is that your catchphrase or something?"

"I'd rather be at home prepping Ms. Nolo for her funeral, to be honest. But if I can't be there I'd rather sleep than waste my time doing stuff like this."

The District Four boy was in a dark brown jacket over a white shirt, with a blood red sash and an eyepatch. A sword hung from an elaborately jeweled sheath at his side and there were leather boots on his feet. The girl was dressed as a mermaid, with a shimmering green tail and a blue seashell bra. Her skin glistened with gold and blue sparkles.

And both of them were complaining.

"I should be the one in a pirate outfit," Jacquelyn scowled. "I'm a pirate Queen, after all."

Raziel tugged at the fine shirt, an expression of distaste on his face. "I'm here to prove my strength, not to wear pretty dresses. When do we get to the real Hunger Games, huh?"

Up in the Gamemaker balcony, Sansa snorted. "Please. Does he have any idea how important getting sponsors is? For a Career, he's remarkably ignorant. And I told you these peasants have no appreciation for the finer things of life."

Both District Five tributes wore the obnoxiously bright orange uniforms of power plant workers. Neither of them looked very happy.

"The Careers are just gonna laugh at me after this." Chelsia adjusted her shirt and tried to wave at the crowd. "I'm gonna kill those stylists."

Rory's uniform was visibly too tight - apparently the stylists hadn't quite known what to do with a boy this muscular. He lifted one arm to wave and the shirt split down the middle.

"Oops," he muttered, staring down at the ruins of his shirt.

Chelsia turned to him, face brightening. "That's an idea. Rip off the whole shirt, Rory. Show them your muscles."

Her District partner hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay." He reached up and tore the fabric away.

"If that doesn't impress the crowd, I don't know what will." Chelsia grinned.

The District Six girl was dressed as an old-style air stewardess, according to her stylists. Not that most of the Capitol citizens watching would understand that that was what she was supposed to be. Her partner, dressed all in white and glowing with electricity, seemed to be supporting her with his right arm and waving to the crowd with his left.

"Let go of me."

"The Escort told me to make sure you didn't fall in front of people. So that's what I'm doing." Natho grinned. "Besides, I'll always be around to help a pretty little girl like you."

"I can stand on my own, thanks. Besides, you attacked me a few hours ago. Why should I let you help me?" Tina snapped.

"I told you. That was Jevi. I won't attack you, that was all Jevi. She's easily excited. But she'll stay inside for now."

District Seven was all in green and brown, fine silk cloaks fluttering in their wake, belts of green and gold leaves clasped around their waists. The boy wore a tunic, the girl a dress, with soft gold embroidery glittering under the stadium lights.

"Doesn't this just make you feel like someone from a fairy tale or something?" Marianne asked, smiling.

"Normal people like me don't go on adventures. I don't want to go on an adventure. People that-"

Marianne turned away and started singing under her breath, trying to block out her District partner's complaints. "_I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew. I sang of wind, a wind there came and in the branches blew..._"

"Oh, no, not this again," Kile muttered. "Do you ever stop singing?"

Marianne ignored him and continued. "_...The winter comes, the bare and leafless day. The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away... Too long have I dwelt upon this Hither Shore, and in a fading crown have twined the golden _elanor_. But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me? What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?"_

Kile sighed.

District Eight's chariot drew some laughs from the crowd, though that was most likely not the stylists' intention. But who wouldn't laugh at a girl dressed up as a giant roll of thread?

"I'm really, really sorry about this." Alexei - who looked halfway decent in his blue tailor suit - looked a bit embarrassed. He fiddled with the golden measuring tape he held, refusing to wave to the crowd.

Tirre might have been blind, but it was clear that she knew exactly how ridiculous she looked. "I will kill them. All of them."

"I'll help you with that."

District Nine was all in white. The boy wore a silvery chain-mail tunic that glimmered under the lights. There was an emerald on his chest and a giant glowing jewel set in the front of the chariot that sent waves of scintillating light over the two tributes. A bow was slung over one shoulder and his long blonde hair was drawn back from his face. The girl wore a long white dress with flowing, lacy sleeves, tied around the middle with a white sash. There was a silver and diamond ring on her finger that seemed to be glowing ever so slightly.

"..."

"..."

"...are you going to wave, Harora?"

The girl mumbled something that the microphones couldn't quite pick up.

"No? I don't think I will, either. An Elven prince such as me has no need of the approval of these humans." And Earendil folded his arms and did just that.

The District Ten boy wore a black leather knee-length coat over a fine red shirt with gold embroidery. There was also chain mail visible through his sleeves - that seemed to be an ongoing theme in this year's outfits. An ivory horn hung from his belt, opposite a sheathed sword. The clasp at his neck was shaped like a white tree, barely big enough to be seen. His District partner wore a long, white, ruffled dress, shot through with baby blue. Her long sleeves fluttered as the chariot moved. There was a shepherd's crook on one hand.

Annelisa seemed to be patting the horse's back. "You're a good horse. A very good horse."

"Do you always talk to animals?" Anarion asked.

"They're easier to talk to than humans," she muttered, a bit too low for her partner to catch.

"What?"

"Nothing."

District Eleven seemed to be working on a flowery-naturey theme. The boy was in a long brown robe with a leaf motif embroidered along the edge - simple, but effective. He also carried a long brown staff. The girl wore a flowing white dress covered in a beautiful mix of purple and pink and white flower petals. There was a crown of woven flowers on her head.

"And how does it feel, to be wearing a clean robe for once?" Violet asked.

"I like this robe. I think I shall ask them if I can keep it." Radagast smiled happily at the girl. "I do wish they hadn't thrown out my old robe. It had my favorite bird's nest in it."

The District Twelve girl wore a skin-tight black suit and a transparent skirt clasped around her waist that flowed out behind her. Soft orange and red flames flickered along the skirt. There was a pickaxe in her hand. The boy wore a fine, fur-trimmed cloak over a dark tunic and a plate scale mail coat. There was a blueish sword in his hand, which he flourished over his head as the chariot rolled in.

"All who cross my path shall feel my blade! Neither Elf nor Orc shall survive!"

Amabel sighed and facepalmed. "Can't you just wave to the crowd like a normal person, Thorin?"

"Normal is boring. And Dwarf princes like me should never be boring. By the way, revenge."

And with that, the parade was over.

* * *

**Bit of an abrupt end but whatever.**

**Favorite outfits?**


	6. Training Day One: Take Thy Due Place

**Training Day One**

* * *

"Go and fix your makeup girl, it's just a breakup, run and hide your crazy and start actin' like a lady..." Marianne toyed with the ropes at the snare-making station, singing to herself, unmindful of the stares this drew. "'Cause I raised you better gotta keep it together even when you fall apart..." She tossed a piece of rope into the air with a triumphant flourish. "But this ain't my mama's broken heart!"

"You sing good," a deep voice grunted from behind her. She turned, surprised, and found herself inches from the District Five boy, the one with all the muscles.

"And who the hell are you?" Marianne snapped.

"Rory." He frowned and stared at her. "You have a pretty voice." His manner of speech was slow, with protracted pauses between words, as though he wasn't quite sure how to speak.

"Thanks." She graced him with a small smile. "I'm Marianne, by the way." An idea was forming in her mind. "Want to hear more?"

Something that might have been happiness crossed his face, which seemed more accustomed to frowning than to smiling. "Sure."

"Then ally with me," she replied bluntly.

"Ally?" He tilted his head to one side. "For in the arena, you mean?" His brow furrowed. "I don't think..."

"Why not?" She needed someone strong on her side, that much was obvious. And he seemed strong enough. The Careers had offered him a spot, had't they? And he'd turned them down for whatever reason, so he probably wasn't some horrible, bloodthirsty person.

"I don't need someone weak like you on my side. How could you have any idea of what I've been through?"

What he'd been through...

Marianne suddenly realized something. The girl from last year - the District Five girl, Taylor, the one that had been experimented on - this was one of her fellow experiments, wasn't it? When the Capitol had done its top-eight-family-interviews thing, hadn't this boy shown up in that lab?

_So that means that he was an experiment too. That those scientists have worked on him all his life._

She looked up into his eyes and wondered what pain was there, in him.

"I can't imagine what you've been through," she whispered. "But don't you see? If you ally with me, I can sing for you." And he'd looked happy, when she'd been singing, hadn't she? Just like the mayor and his family looked whenever she came and sang for them.

Rory considered this. "Fine. Allies."

Marianne held out her hand, smiling in relief. After a brief hesitation, he took it, handling it gently, as though she was something easily breakable. And she supposed that to his eyes, she was.

* * *

Violet had decided that there was no point in joining an alliance. There was no one here even half as smart as her, no one worthy of being her companion. She had decided that she could win this on her own, with her genius-level IQ.

That being said, it never hurt to at least let someone follow her around for awhile. When she deserted them in the arena, they would be at an even bigger disadvantage because they would have lost their ally and wasted the time they could have used to find another. Which would mean that there would be one less contender in the arena for the top spot.

_I'm way too smart for this._

She glanced behind her to where the District Nine girl stood - the one with the creepy red eyes, the one that never seemed to talk. Harora had been following her for the past hour or so, those unnatural eyes tracking her every move. A lesser being might have been freaked out by this, but not Violet.

"Do you want something?" she asked coldly, turning on the girl. Harora blinked but showed no other emotional reaction. "Because if you don't, you should stop following me."

"Everyone wants something." The girl's voice was flat, uncaring. Her hair - which was a patchwork of brown and blonde and red, as though she'd been unable to decide what color she wanted and had used all of them - fell over her face, casting it into shadow.

"What does everyone want, then?"

"To live. To die."

"That's a contradiction." And this girl seemed more than a little bit insane, too.

"Everyone wants to die, deep down."

"Well, we all die someday." Violet sighed. "If you have nothing better to do than to follow me around making random pronouncements that aren't even coherent, then I suggest you go bother somebody else."

"Do you want to die?" Harora asked, staring into Violet's eyes. "I can tell you how, if you want. It isn't a peaceful passing. You thought you could trust them"

A chill went down her spine at these words.

_There's no way she can predict someone's death. She's making this up, trying to freak me out._

"Shut up," she said roughly, stepping away. "Shut up!"

"Very well." For some reason the District Nine girl looked almost amused. "The truth will out, though."

* * *

"You have no idea how annoying it is to hear that idiot go on and on about how he's a king. I don't know how you stand it." Kalliope shot a glance at Katica. "Though you don't seem like the kind of person that gets easily annoyed."

Katica shrugged, but didn't say anything. Grimmjow had gotten on her nerves during the train ride and such, that was true, but it wasn't like that earned him her undying hatred. He seemed like an okay guy besides the king obsession. And seeing how Kalliope's District partner never talked about anything but Fate, it seemed like this alliance was balancing out alright.

As if she'd read her mind, Kalliope sighed. "And Calixe going on and on about Fate. I swear, if he doesn't shut up I will slap him."

Somehow, Katica doubted that Kalliope would eve say such a think to Calixe's face. The District Two girl seemed like the type that kept on everyone's good side until she got a chance to stab them in the back.

But Kalliope was being nice to her, so maybe there were exceptions to that.

_Or maybe she's just playing with you. Being nice to you so it hurts even more when she does kill you._

Katica shook her head, trying to dispel these negative thoughts.

"And have you noticed how District Five is hanging around with that sad puppy-dog face? She wants in. And she's pretty pathetic looking."

Personally, Katica thought that Chelsia didn't seem all that bad. It looked like she had the same level of training as any Career, so there was no reason she shouldn't be let in... even if she was from District Five.

"Oh, look, the King is arguing with the Pirate Girl. How amusing." Kallope pointed to where Grimmjow and Jacquelyn seemed to be having a heated discussion about something or other.

"Do you think they both want to lead the alliance?" She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth - it seemed like Kalliope wanted to be a leader, too, and she might not take to kindly to the fact that Katica wasn't actually regarding her as a candidate for that role. But the violet-eyed girl merely frowned thoughtfully.

"They both want to, I think. But they can't. Obviously. So one of them is either leaving or getting killed very early on." She paused. "Or both."

"But we all die in the end," Katica pointed out. "All but one."

"Of course." And the unspoken end of that sentence: A_nd that person will be me._

* * *

Annelisa sat on the floor, a book in her lap. The cover was glossy, with a giant picture of a mushroom on it. It claimed to list every species of poisonous plant and fungi in North America, but she had yet to find examples of most of the plants the Gamemakers often used in the arena. She supposed that those were mutated, genetically engineered to poison tributes in an unidentifiable manner.

The other twenty-three tributes in the room seemed to be engaged in various types of training. Which made sense, seeing as this was the training room and they were entering the arena with the week. And if she had honestly thought that she had any kind of a chance in a fight, she would have been training with weapons, too.

But the trainers were right when they said that sometimes the most important skills to have in an arena were survival skills. Dehydration and food poisoning could be as fatal as any sword. More, if you were alone.

"Hey. You seem pretty lonely."

Annelisa looked up into the brown eyes of the District Twelve girl and didn't say anything. Amabel didn't seem to take in personally. She moved closer and sat beside her.

"My District partner deserted me as soon as we came here. Something about how a Dwarven prince doesn't need a peasant like me. Which was kinda mean, but whatever."

Anarion had deserted her, too. In fact, Annelisa could see him from here. He seemed to be trying to climb the cargo net.

"I figured that since you were alone, and I was alone, we could be alone together." Amabel gave her a tight smile. "Since we'll both be dead in a few days."

Annelisa noted that Amabel's fists were clenched. The shorter girl seemed to tense up at the thought of the arena - and by extension, at the thought of the Hunger Games. This was a girl that had a lot of anger in her.

_But directed at whom?_

"I guess if you want to, we can stick together." Amabel grinned, fingers tapping on the tile floor as she rather obviously tried to restrain her anger - not anger directed at Annelisa, certainly, but at something else...

_The Capitol?_

"Ally, you mean?" Annelisa asked, speaking for the first time.

"So you can speak!" Amabel laughed. "Yeah, sure. Ally. It'd be cool, huh?"

"I guess." It wouldn't be a bad idea to ally with this girl, after all. Even if Annelisa would have preferred to be alone. Another set of eyes would be helpful in the arena.

* * *

Calixe watched as the District Five girl hurled an axe across the room, then turned and looked towards the Careers hopefully. It was clear that Chelsia wanted to get into their alliance - and it seemed like she was trained, too, which was always a bonus. The coin toss had also favored her.

"What do you think?" Katica leaned against the rack of weapons, light green eyes fixed on Calixe, a small smile on her face.

"Fate has decreed that she may join our group."

"Then you approve."

"It is not my place to argue with Fate." And as far as he was concerned, that was final.

"You and your Fate." His District partner came up from behind him, a mocking tone in her voice. Calixe turned. He didn't trust Kalliope. There was a cold light in those eyes, a viscousness hidden behind that angelic smile that he didn't like one bit. Fate did not favor this girl. "Do you really think Fate can help you here?"

"I think it's a fascinating idea," Katica offered. When Kalliope gave her a scornful glance, the District One girl blushed slightly and looked away.

"I think we should let her in." Jacquelyn's raised voice made the three Careers turn and stare. The District Four girl - supported by her District partner, a tall boy named Raziel who seemed to utterly support her - had slipped into a leadership role almost automatically.

Of course, this didn't go over too well with a certain District One boy.

"What need does an alliance such as ours have for a District Five weakling?" Grimmjow asked, scowling.

"I think she'd be fine with us. I say she can join." It was fairly obvious that the 'she' here was Chelsia.

"I'm a king, bitch. No one tells me what to do."

Calixe had noticed that Grimmjow was quite the bipolar boy - one second he was proclaiming his kingship to the world with a grin on his face, the next he was an overly aggressive, arrogant Career with a tendency to speak in a vaguely archaic manner. Either way, he was pretty crazy.

"Think they'll start fighting already?" Katica asked, voice low and eyes wide.

"The tension's been building up. They can't sustain this kind of a truce forever." Kalliope seemed almost amused. "One of them is leaving this alliance. Just like I thought."

_Because neither will accept the other's leadership, I suppose. And will you be happy about that, Kalliope? Will that be one less person you will have to kill in their sleep when you finally tire of this alliance?_

"I will tell you what to do, because I'm the captain here." Jacquelyn's dark eyes were hard, glinting like steel. The sapphire pendant around her throat sparkled as she moved forward.

Grimmjow's hand blurred as he seized a nearby sword. Katica shrieked as he brought the blade up. Calixe tensed.

_Is he insane?_

The point pricked Jacquelyn's neck, blood welling up and trickling down her tan neck. "Get thee gone and take thy due place," he spat into the girl's surprised face. "See? This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once to usurp my place and maybe it will rid us of one who seeks to be master of thralls."

Calixe blinked. Had the District One boy actually just said that? It didn't seem like a normal thing to say. Not at all. Though Grimmjow was, of course, far from normal...

Three trainers swooped in and grabbed Grimmjow's arms, forcing him back and away from the District Four girl. Jacquelyn drew herself up and said, "Leave, then, and seek your own alliance. You are no longer welcome here."

Grimmjow shook the trainers off. "So be it." His dark eyes flashed, and for a moment Calixe almost expected Jacquelyn to shrink back from the hatred that was rather evident there. "Go hence to a swift and painful death." He turned and strode off.

* * *

"Jacquelyn?" The District Four boy was still holding the knife he had grabbed when Grimmjow had gone after her. It wasn't as though Raziel had been about to protect Jacquelyn, of course not... but it never hurt to be safe.

She turned, forcing a smile onto her face. "Good riddance to him. I'm glad he's gone."

Raziel regarded her with a guarded light in his eyes. "The others may see that as a display of weakness on your part. He did pull a sword out on you."

"And got lectured by the trainers for it. That's against the rules, in case you hadn't noticed." Not that she spent much of her time following rules, anyways.

"You might want to do something to regain their confidence." He cast a glance over to where Kalliope, Katica, and Calixe stood, watching them. Chelsia was there too, off to the side, still looking hopeful that she'd be allowed in.

"Right." Jacquelyn flashed him a smile and vaulted up onto the table. "My crew!"

"Are we your crew?" Kalliope smirked.

"Yes. I am your captain. You may address me as such." Jacquelyn smirked. "The traitor Grimmjow is now under a death sentence. Any who see him in the arena has my permission to kill him in whatever manner they see fit." She wasn't going to be stupid and swear to kill him herself - people who swore oaths tended to end up dead.

"May I join?" Chelsia spoke for the first time, moving closer. The District Five girl had been trying to impress the Careers all day long in a rather obvious fashion. "I'm strong. Let me prove it to you."

Raziel could sympathize with that ideal. Was that not the exact same reason he had had for volunteering? But Jacquelyn was the one in charge here, not him. It was up to her.

"Perhaps." His District partner's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Prove your strength by three days hence and you may join."

* * *

**By the way, in return for a few personal favors I've agreed to promote FreeInk's SYOT here. So go check it out? It's called the 114th Hunger Games and it is CLOSED, but I really suggest that you read it because it looks like it's going to be awesome and also I have a few tributes in it.**

**ALSO: nb1998 has a SYOT open that you should submit to.**

**Sorry this chapter was so delayed.**

**Next chapter is training day two, just for the record.**

**Alliances so far: Katica/Calixe/Kalliope/Raziel/Jacquelyn/(possibly)Chelsia (CAREERS), Rory/Marianne, Annelisa/Amabel**


	7. Training Day Two: So Many Things

**Seems like a good place to note that I don't own any of the songs Marianne insists on singing. Not that any of you probably thought I did. I hope not, at least.**

**Also, I keep on almost typing 'Maedhros' instead of 'Marianne' and it's a problem. Sigh...**

* * *

**Training Day Two**

* * *

Rory had never actually, truly seen Taylor - not up close. He had never spoken to her. She had just been that pale girl he saw once a year, when Dr. Aizen dragged them out for the Reaping. She'd always been blindfolded, because that was part of her experiment, wasn't it?

Of course, once she'd gotten into the arena, he'd learned plenty about her. More than he was ever supposed to know, most likely. The Capitol had done a lot of research about her, even interviewed the scientists. And Rory had learned for the first time what the Hunger Games were - and what it meant to die.

He supposed he'd loved Taylor, even if he'd never really known her.

"Rory?"

He turned, looked at the tiny girl (tiny to him, that was) that had allied with him. "Yes?"

"D'you think it's even worth training?" Marianne regarded the rope in her hands that she was supposed to be fashioning into a snare. So far it looked like a tangled mess of... rope.

"Do what you want," he grunted. To tell the truth, he couldn't care less what this girl did. And it wasn't as though he needed training. He was strong enough - Dr. Aizen and the others had seen to that.

An echo of old pain made him clench his fists. Lifting weights day and night until his muscles screamed and burned and sweat rolled off of him in great drops, spattering the floor alongside his blood, until he begged for it to stop - but the scientists with their steel eyes and electrical prods were always waiting, and he wasn't allowed to stop, was he?

(and he just wanted for it to be over, for the pain to stop)

_No one can understand that. They don't know that pain, so they can't be worth my time..._

"Rory?" That was concern, there, in Marianne's voice - she must have seen the memories on his face. He met her bright eyes. This girl-

_(so like Taylor, but so unlike her)_

There was something about this girl and her songs that drew him in.

He had never heard music before he met the girl from District Seven.

"Sing me a song, Marianne."

A smile broke across her face. "Really? You mean it?" She didn't even wait for his nod, but launched into a slow, sad song with a lilting melody that made something in him stir. "I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that were with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair..."

Rory closed his eyes. He had never seen these things - the scientists had stolen them from him, given him the sterile white walls of his cell. But Marianne had seen them-

_And are you jealous of her for that?_

"I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I will ever see." Marianne's eyes were distant, sad. "For there are still so many things that I have never seen: on every wood in every spring there is a different green."

Music had power - that was why he had never been allowed to hear it. How many other things - beautiful, terrible things - had been taken from him?

"I sit beside the fire and thing of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before I listen for returning feet, and voices at my door." Marianne trailed off, a small smile on her face.

* * *

"Are you sure this is safe?"

"Of course it is!" Alexei's voice was cheerful, his hands on hers steady and fearless. "Nothing to worry about. It's only... like, a foot off the ground, anyways."

Tirre frowned. "If I fall, I will strangle you."

"Noted." She could practically hear the grin on his face and wondered (not for the first time) what he looked like.

She took a hesitant step out and gasped as the world tilted around her. "Alexei!" _He's trying to kill me. I'm definitely gonna die._

"I got you, Tirre. Don't worry." His grasp was firm, a light cheerfulness in his voice. "You're doing great. Another step?"

"Blind people shouldn't tightrope walk. And how's this gonna be any use in the arena?" She dug her fingers into his hands and let him guide her another step out, feeling the rope wobble beneath her.

"Having fun is always more important," he responded blithely.

"Right. Because having fun's going to keep me alive. Oh wait. Since I'm going to die anyways I guess I don't have to worry about that." She meant it as a bitter statement, one that usually drove others away, and was surprised to hear his musical laugh.

"That's right. Have fun before you die and all that."

She took another step, wobbling less this time. "The only reason I haven't fallen yet is 'cause you're holding me up," she pointed out. "I'd definitely never make it otherwise."

"There's no shame in accepting someone's help. Besides. We all need someone to hold us up every now and then." He said it so seriously that she had to laugh.

"That's so deep, Alexei."

He was silent for a little while. "You have a nice laugh," he said finally. "You should use it more often."

She felt rough wood under her feet and shook his hand from hers. "I don't have much cause to laugh." In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so easily. "There. I reached the end. What stupid thing do you want me to do next?"

"Wanna try the trampoline?"

"Whatever." But she held out her hand and let him lead her wherever he wanted to go.

* * *

"Are you following me?"

"Maybe." Mortimer stifled a yawn. "But if I am, know that it's only 'cause I'm too lazy to go find someone else to talk to."

"That's such a compliment," Karsa sighed.

"Really. Interacting with others is such a bother. Not worth the effort. I'd rather talk to-"

"-dead people, I know," she finished for him, rolling her eyes. Really. This boy and his obsession with death. It was a bit creepy once you first talked to him, but after awhile it got tolerable. Maybe even a bit adorable.

Not that she was at all attached to him. Pssh no.

"Want to learn about some poisonous plants?" She offered the book to him, inwardly betting she could predict his answer.

"Nah, don't feel like it."

_Yup. That's exactly what he says. Every time._

"So you'll just die, then." Karsa flipped the book open. "Whatever, man. See if I care." She, of course, had to go win the Hunger Games so she could go home and run away with her brother. Like they'd planned to.

When she looked up a few minutes later, Mortimer was sound asleep.

"...you're an idiot, you know that?"

The boy continued to sleep.

She smiled despite herself. Asleep, he almost seemed normal. But there was something nice about the fact that he wasn't an ultra-normal District Three boy (that was, geeky, smart, pathetic). Because it wasn't like she was a normal District Three girl (see previous list of adjectives).

_And if you're going to be weird, you might as well have someone else with you that's just as abnormal. Right?_

* * *

"Tina, wait." He grabbed her sleeve, pulled her back towards him, knowing she wouldn't dare struggle for fear of falling again. "Listen to me, will you?"

"I don't have to listen to you," she spat. "Leave me alone!"

"I need to talk to you." Natho bit his lip, forcing the others back - this he had to do on his own, without them. This was something he had to fix. "Can't you just let me say something?"

She turned on him, eyes blazing. "You attack me before the parade, you don't even offer me an explanation. And why should you bother with me anyways? I'm dying, remember?"

"Tina..."

His District partner tried to wrench her arm from his grasp. He let go, watched her totter and slip forward, eyes going wide. He caught her moments before she crashed to the ground and steadied her, feeling her warm skin against his.

"You can't even stand on your own, Tina, what makes you think you can refuse my help?" The words that slipped from his mouth were not Natho's, they were the other's. He shoved the other back once more - not now, not here. "I just want to help you."

Tina looked up, dark eyes filled with anger - but behind that anger, fear. "How can someone like you help me?"

"By killing you." The pressure of the others, straining to get out, forced the words out. He winced at how terrible they sounded, but something in that honesty seemed to make her hesitate.

"And how would that help me?"

"Look. This might sound crazy." God knew it sounded crazy to him, back when it had begun, but there was no denying the truth, not when it was invading your mind like that. "But about a year ago, this real idiot of a boy started dating my sister Jevi. She'd always had a few... mental issues, so I wasn't to keen on the fact that Devian was hanging out with her-"

"How is this at all relevant?" Tina stepped away, one hand out to steady herself. She didn't fall - not this time.

"I'm getting there. One day - you know those old train tracks, down by the river?" She nodded. "Jevi and Devian and I were down there. We were jumping off the covered bridge into the water - normal kid stuff, know what I mean?"

"No." She gazed at him proudly, lifting her chin. "Father never let me do things like that."

He winced. _Right. Mayor's daughter. Forgot about that. _"Well. We were jumping. And Jevi - she'd just jumped and was climbing back up. And she lost her balance right on the edge and I tried to help her but..." He looked away. "When I tried to grab her hand, I lost my balance myself and shoved her in. She hit her head on a rock."

_(and her eyes, staring up at the sky, mirroring its blue, and the bright blood trickling down her face...)_

"I'm so sorry," Tina whispered, eyes wide.

Natho bit his lip. "Devian... Devian was upset. Understandably so." He chuckled dryly. "He came after me. I panicked. There was an old iron rail tie nearby so I picked that up, and..." _I didn't mean it, I really didn't, you have to believe me... _"Well. You can figure what happened next."

Her eyes were filled with horror, mouth hanging open a bit, fingers pressed to her face.

"But the thing is..." He grabbed her hand, half-expecting her to flinch away, and was gratified when she didn't. "After that, after I..." (say it, just say it) "After I killed them, they were _inside_ of me. Not like the preacher said at their funerals, how they'd always 'live on in the memory of the living' or some crap like that. They were actually inside of me. And sometimes they come out and do things."

Understanding, there, filling her face. "So when you attacked me..."

"That was Jevi." He let out a rueful chuckle, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "She always was a bit unstable."

"So you're saying that when you kill people... their personalities or something join you."

"Something like that, yeah." He could see the blank disbelief in her eyes, but still hoped - maybe, just maybe, he could convince her.

"And you want to kill me so I can be part of you." She said it flatly, dispassionately, and he flinched. "Because I'm going to die anyways, is that it?"

"I thought you'd want a chance to live longer..." The protest died in his mouth as she shoved him away.

"How do you know that the others in your head are even there? How do you know that they're not just your own creation?" She glared at him, fearless and proud. "No thanks. I'll find my own way to death."

He watched her walk away, fists clenched.

_Nice job, Natho, _something in him - himself, or the others? - hissed.

_I was just trying to help. I was really only trying to help..._

_(like you helped Jevi?_)

Natho turned away. If she wasn't going to accept his help, fine. She could go die on her own, then.

* * *

Thorin scowled at the Career alliance, fingering his axe. How he wanted to kill them, the craven fools. They would not withstand the wrath of a Dwarven prince. Just wait until he was in the arena-

"Fight for me. And regain your honor."

"What?" Thorin looked up into a pair of blue-grey eyes, recognized the District One boy. "And who are you, to demand such things of me, the King Under the Mountain?"

Grimmjow smiled slightly. "You have no kingship. Not here. I'm a king-"

"And this is your kingdom, eh?" Thorin swept out an arm mockingly, encompassing the room. "Mighty king indeed, cast from his own alliance by a pirate."

The taller boy's eyes flashed. "I would not say such things if I were you. I am the heir to the greatest kingdom since Númenor, descended from Elendil himself. I am more of a king than you Dwarves ever were-"

"Sounds like Elf-talk." Thorin hefted the axe, glaring at Grimmjow. "And if there's anything I hate besides Orcs, it's a stuck-up Elf."

The trainer manning the axe station was giving the two boys some odd looks and trying to edge away. Neither of the kings acknowledged the presence of such a peasant.

"You court death, Dwarf, daring to raise a hand to a king," Grimmjow snarled.

"I do not fear death."

"That's _my_ line!"

"Hey, now. No point in arguing." A boy in a long, tattered brown robe popped out of apparently nowhere. "We're all enemies of the One Enemy here, are we not? So let's not argue."

The trainer turned and ran from the increasing insanity in the immediate vicinity.

"And you are?" Thorin drew himself up, looking down his nose at the ragged boy.

"Radagast the Brown. One of the Istari - a Wizard." Radagast nodded. "Friend of Gandalf?"

"Never heard of you," Thorin grunted.

"I've heard of you. Thought you were hanging out in Mirkwood." Grimmjow shot a look at Thorin as if proud of the fact that he knew something the other didn't.

"I volunteered to save a poor woodland creature." Radagast gave him a bright smile and adjusted his robe. "And I couldn't come down to training yesterday because they wouldn't let me wear my robe. But they gave in today. I can be quite persuasive if need be."

"So you're a Wizard." Thorin's gaze was flatly disbelieving. "Show us a magic trick then, Mr. Wizard."

"Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks!" Radagast said, grinning. "Really, I do better resurrecting hedgehogs and stuff like that. Animals. Say, I have this really sweet rabbit-drawn sled back home in District Eleven. Too bad you'll probably never see it."

"A chariot fit for a king indeed," Grimmjow noted.

Thorin turned and stalked off. If they wanted to have a little let's-be-friends-and-talk time, so be it. He would have no part in such things. Not with a would-be king like Grimmjow and a ridiculous _wizard_ like Radagast.

He was the King Under the Mountain and he wasn't about to take shit from anyone.

* * *

Kile sat in a corner, grumbling to himself. "I don't want to go on adventures. I don't. Adventures are not things that respectable Bagons of District Seven do."

Someone stomped past him, but he didn't look up.

"No, sir. Confusticate that Escort! Why'd she have to pull my name, eh? She ought to have called up one of those Tooks. They're always looking for an adventure." He sniffed disdainfully. "Adventure. Pssh."

"What's this? A peasant, muttering to himself?"

Kile looked up. "And you are?"

"Thorin Oakenshield."

"You just showed up last scene. Why are you here again- I mean, Kile Bagon at your service." He stood and nodded at the taller boy, adjusting his shirt. "Nice to meet you." He held out his hand and was quite offended when Thorin didn't shake it.

"I need a burglar."

"That was abrupt."

"Everything in this story is, get used to it. I need a burglar. To steal the Career's supplies. So they all die. And also I want to piss off Grimmjow by being a better king than he is."

"I see." Kile frowned. "But that's an adventure. I don't do adventures. What's in it for me?"

Thorin sighed. "Where's Balin when you need him? He had a whole terms-of-service thing. Well. I guess you'd get some of whatever we manage to plunder. And I'm not responsible for any death that might happen to you. Like, death. Via dragon or troll or Orc or whatever."

"Of course not." Kile considered this. "I'll get back to you on that, if it's all the same to you."

"But you'll be my minion - I mean, loyal subject?" Thorin glanced back to where Grimmjow and Radagast were still talking. "Just so that idiot and I are even?"

"...sure." Kile assumed that 'loyal subject' was a synonym for 'ally'.

"Good. Loyalty, honor, and a willing heart... I can ask for no more than that." Thorin looked Kile up and down. "Then again. We'll just see if you're even worth my time, won't we?"

* * *

**It's like... it's going from ultra-serious-and-deadly-and-emotional to utterly ridiculous with every scene change. And we all know whose fault that is *coughLOTRtributescough***

**Not that I'm complaining. At all. I'm actually having fun here.**

**Alliances so far: Katica/Calixe/Kalliope/Raziel/Jacquelyn/(possibly)Chelsia (CAREERS), Rory/Marianne, Annelisa/Amabel, Tirre/Alexei, Karsa/Mortimer, (and kinda sorta for some reason) Grimmjow/Radagast, (and really abruptly) Thorin/Kile**

**Next chapter: Training Day Three**


	8. Training Day Three: I Will Follow

**Training Day Three**

* * *

"Do you think she'll let me in?" Chelsia looked up at Raziel. The District Four boy, besides being Jacquelyn's District partner and most loyal follower, seemed to be most willing to give Chelsia a chance. And she appreciated that.

"It doesn't matter what I think." Raziel's voice was carefully neutral as he hefted an axe and hurled it at a nearby dummy. "But Jacquelyn seems to like you."

She couldn't contain the smile that broke across her face at those words. "I'll be a great part of this alliance," she promised. "Just wait - I'll kill anyone you want me to."

"Will you, now?" There was something strange in his eyes as he turned and looked down at her. She bristled, taking his comment for doubt in her abilities.

"Of course I will! Being from District Five in no way lowers the value of my training!" Chelsia crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "Of all the - I thought you of all people would understand that. Aren't you the one that's always going on about how you're in this to prove that you're strong?"

_I'm strong enough, dammit. I'll succeed where the others didn't - Mother and Father will get another Victor from me._

And she pushed from her mind the memory of her brother, the spatters of blood, the way the cameras had zoomed in on his wide, panicked eyes as the mutt tore through his chest. Because he'd been weak, obviously, and there was no way that she would die like that.

"I don't doubt your strength," Raziel replied, calm as ever. There seemed to be an unspoken half to that, something along the lines of _I don't doubt your strength, only your courage._

Well, she'd just have to show them, wouldn't she? Prove that she was good enough. And when this idiot was dead, she'd laugh at his body. Laugh and dance in his blood, tear his body with her knives... whatever she wanted. Because Victors could do what they wanted.

_And I'm going to be a Victor. No matter what._

* * *

"I think all the Gamemakers are stupid." Alexei tossed a knife at a target half-heartedly, snorting slightly when it clattered to the floor several feet short. "And doesn't it strike you as odd that murder can get you a death sentence anywhere but in the arena? And that we're teaching kids to kill to survive?"

Tirre's milk-white eyes were fixed on some point over his shoulder. "Shouldn't you shut up before someone comes and arrests you for rebellious talk?"

"Arrest me? I'm already going into the Hunger Games!" He smiled even though he knew she couldn't see him. "They'd never slaughter me before they can film it. Wouldn't want to deprive the Capitol of its precious entertainment now, would we?"

She shifted, obviously uncomfortable with this subject. He was used to that, of course - kinda came with the whole I-think-I'll-diss-the-Captiol thing. "Well. You're the one who volunteered for this."

"That's different. I just wanted to say 'I VOLUNTEER' in a really epic way. Like Katniss Everdeen, right?" Alexei picked up another knife, tossed it into the air. "She had it right. Get rid of the Hunger Games and you get rid of a lot of evil."

"The arena isn't the only place where evil happens," Tirre snapped. He looked at her, surprised at the bitter, angry note in her voice. "People still get hurt - people still hurt others... even when they don't have the excuse that it's just a _game!"  
_

"Tirre..." Alexei moved closer, took her hand. The light glanced off the scar that ran across her forehead, almost faded after what must have been years and years. He wondered who gave it to her - and who had given her this apparently inexhaustible wellspring of hatred towards the world.

She snatched his hand away. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," he insisted. "We're allies, we should trust each other-"

"You think you know what evil is?" she spat, interrupting him. "You have no idea! You've never been hurt like - like..."

"Like you were hurt," he whispered when it was clear she couldn't go on.

"Like my father hurt me." There was hatred there, and anger - but also an old terror. "He took my eyes, Alexei. Do you know what that's like, to lose that one sense that tells you most about the world around you?"

He didn't, and he couldn't pretend that he did. But what he could do was wrap his arms around her and try to give her something warm and kind. She stiffened, but let him hold her - and that was a step in the right direction, as far as he was concerned.

* * *

Amabel poked her ally in the side with a piece of wire. Annelisa jumped a bit and yelped, coming back from whatever world she'd been in. The District Eleven girl had a tendency to start staring off into space for no apparent reason - which annoyed Amabel, just a bit, but she needed this girl.

"What were you thinking?" Amabel asked, trying to keep her tone pleasant.

"The Careers..." The shorter girl trailed off, blushing a bit, and Amabel had to resist the urge to snap at her. It wasn't really Annelisa's fault that she was so socially awkward.

"What about them?"

"They're kind of scary. And the District One boy isn't even with them."

"Yeah, that might be a problem." Amabel twisted the length of wire, focusing on the way the light glinted off of it rather than the anger that was slowly building up inside of her. "A big alliance is easier to avoid than a single person. It'd be easier for someone like Grimmjow to sneak up on us one night."

"Eh?" Annelisa's eyes widened. "D-do you think that might happen?"

Amabel sighed - she hadn't meant to scare the girl. "It might, that's all I'm saying." Continuing to bend the wire. "But that's why there's two of us, so we can watch out for each other." The wire was digging into her fingers, little red lines appearing on her skin. The pain was a welcome distraction, though-

"Do you need my help?" The Capitol trainer leaned forward, a friendly smile on his face, and that was about the worst thing he could've done.

"Get away from me!" Amabel lashed out, the hand holding the wire connecting with his cheek. Blood welled up on his pale skin and he backed away, eyes wide. She lunged at him, ignoring Annelisa's scream. "You have no right to act like that, you son of a bitch! You're all the same, you Capitolites, taking _pleasure _in watching kids _die,_ it makes me so fucking sick!"

"Amabel!" Her ally's fingers grasped at her shirt sleeve, tried to pull her back, but Amabel shoved her away.

"I hate you all!" she screamed at the trainer, words torn from her throat. Rage darkened her vision, made her ears roar with the sound of her heart. "You should all just go die in your stupid arenas!"

Rough hands closed around her arms, pinning them to her sides. "Enough, girl," the Peacekeeper snarled, jerking her back. She struggled, trying to kick him, but he forced her down until her knees slammed into the floor. "Enough!"

"Now, then." One of the Gamemakers had descended from the platform, a small smile on her face. She swept back her long dark hair, deep blue eyes fixed on Amabel's. "Are you going to stop struggling or should I have someone see to it that you're calm - permanently?"

"Aw, Kushana, no need to threaten the poor girl~" This was from the one with green cat-eyes, the Head Gamemaker.

The blue-eyed one - Kushana - didn't even turn. "Unhand her," she snapped to the Peacekeeper.

Amabel stood, dusting off her pants, staring sullenly at the ground. She was fully aware of the fact that everyone in the room - every tribute, every trainer, every Gamemaker - was watching. The rage had faded, like it always did. There was a cold, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Are you going to behave, now?" the Gamemaker asked, voice steel-hard.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Yes, _what_?"

"Yes, I'll behave." She glanced into those icy eyes and away again, suppressing a shiver.

"Good." And the Gamemaker spun and ascended the platform again, taking her place beside a woman with her face buried in a book. Amabel turned back to where Annelisa stood, digging her nails into her palms.

* * *

"Will you join my alliance?"

And it had been as easy as that, in the end. One question that could only really have one answer. Because it wasn't like Anarion could pretend he _hadn't_ been watching the two boys from across the room this whole time, wondering. And it wasn't like the District One boy seemed like someone who would take no for an answer.

"And why would I join your alliance?" Anarion looked into Grimmjow's eyes, trying to be fearless - but there was something in the taller boy's eyes that made even him shrink back.

"Why would you not? I am, after all, a king."

_Because you look too much like my brother. The one my father loved above all else, the one I stole from him in the hopes of gaining his love..._

"I've heard that allying isn't a great idea. Tends to get you killed." Even if he did deserve death, maybe these two didn't.

The brown-robed boy standing beside Grimmjow stirred. "I told him it'd be a good idea to talk to you. You looked like a trustworthy, honorable boy."

_Right, because it's honorable to kill your own brother. It's honorable to be a kinslayer._

"Who are you?" Anarion asked, scorn lacing his voice.

"Radagast the Brown," the boy replied simply, gracing him with a nod. "And you are Anarion Elendili, District Ten tribute. You volunteered."

His fists clenched involuntarily and he forced himself to relax, not wishing to betray his weakness now, not to these boys (well, the taller one in particular). "I did." Trying to make it sound like it had been out of strength and not a foolish desire to make his father see him, truly see him, for the first time since his brother's death.

_(murder)_

An ugly word for an ugly deed. But that was what it had been.

"I think..." Grimmjow raised an eyebrow, his eyes - a few shades lighter than Anarion's grey ones - sweeping over the District Ten boy. "I think you are someone who could be useful to me. Will you join and accept me as your king?"

_Why would you want a kinslayer? None are as cursed as they who slay their own blood._

"I will follow you."

* * *

"Another ally, then." Radagast's voice was calm as he watched Grimmjow pace back and forth. The District One boy spared him a glance before laughing softly.

"Think that'll annoy Thorin? And he just got himself his own little puppy dog, too..." He turned to where he knew the District Twelve boy would be, across the room with his tag-along, the District Seven boy. "I can't imagine what he sees in that one."

Anarion, on the other hand... he was strong. Stronger than one might think, at first glance. Grimmjow had always been good at reading others - it came with being a king, after all - and he liked the light in Anarion's eyes.

"Anarion seems like a nice boy," Radagast remarked. "I trust him."

_You trust everyone, though, so that isn't saying much. _He didn't say that, though - it might offend the Wizard. "I'm a king, Radagast. I always make the right decisions." He grinned, even though that wasn't technically true.

"I trust you, too."

"And you should. Because I'M A KING, BITCH!" The last part was shouted to the room at large, but it seemed that the other tributes were used to him proclaiming this by now because none of them turned to look.

* * *

They were all doomed. Every single tribute in this room. No matter where Harora looked, she could see only blood, hear only screams. Maybe somewhere there was one without that specter of death - there had to be, because not everyone died in the arena - but that was lost in the chaos.

Dying was never easy, but it seemed she hadn't truly realized that until she came here.

(blood on the girl's hands, on her face, staining her shirt and pouring from a dark hole in her throat)

Harora covered her ears, tried to block out the noises of death, but they were only really inside her mind. No one else heard what she heard or saw what she saw - and maybe once she might have seen it as her duty to tell them what she knew, enlighten the woefully ignorant, but there was just too much here.

_Too much death, I can't... I just can't..._

(he lay in the taller boy's arms, blood blossoming across his front, and bubbling up on his lips, and staining his pale face)

_Just a few more days. A few more days and they'll start to fall, it'll all come true... _

And when they were dead she would be free of the horror of knowing how it would end, knowing how they died.

(fire and smoke all around, and the girl was falling and it was over at last)

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. When they started dying, she'd be glad. And they _would_ die, because she was always right.

* * *

**Trying to keep it serious... really trying... dammit Grimmjow stop making it hard for me...**

**So anyways, hope that was less of a bipolar chapter than the last. In fact, I tried to keep it all dark and serious. Hope that was okay?**

**Alliances so far: Katica/Calixe/Kalliope/Raziel/Jacquelyn/Chelsia (CAREERS), Rory/Marianne, Annelisa/Amabel, Tirre/Alexei, Karsa/Mortimer, Grimmjow/Radagast/Anarion, Thorin/Kile, Harora (loner), Violet (loner)**

**Tributes not yet placed: Tina, Earendil, Natho**

**Review please.**


	9. Private Sessions: The World Ahead

**Private Sessions**

* * *

_If I was at home right, now, Father would probably be at a meeting or something. The chef would be making lunch, and Blaine would probably be over trying to cheer me up._

"Tina Hudson." The robotic voice made her start - she'd almost forgotten where she was. She stood, hands out, braced for another fall - not that she'd be able to catch herself if her legs decided to stop supporting her. Her muscles had been going out more and more recently these past few days, almost as if learning what she had had made the disease worse.

_S__pinocerebellar _ataxia, she reminded herself. Just a fancy way of saying she was going to die.

Tina pushed through the doors, trying to force a smile onto her face. The Gamemakers - there were eight of them, all female - were seated at a long table raised on a platform on one side of the room.

"Tina Hudson, District Six," she said, trying to sound cheerful. Then she moved towards the knife throwing station - she'd gotten okay at that, after practicing alone for a few days.

She reached for the first one and lifted it, throwing a nervous glance back at the Gamemakers. At least they all seemed to be paying attention, which was good. She squinted at the target and extended her arm, ready to throw-

Every muscle in her body went slack and she found herself tottering backwards into the knife rack. There was a tremendous crash as she and it tumbled to the ground, spilling knives across the tiled floor. She tasted blood, hot and salty in her mouth.

_Not again. Not here. I need a good score, I need sponsors or I really won't make it anywhere in the arena..._

Tina tried to will herself back to her feet, but her body wasn't responding. The Gamemakers were still just sitting there, watching dispassionately as she lay there, unable to move.

_Help me! _she wanted to scream. _Help me up, damn you, can't you see that I can't get up?_ Her mouth wasn't moving. Nothing was.

When the fit finally passed, when she was finally able to scramble to her feet, her time was up.

* * *

_Kalliope Winters, you effing idiot._

The District Two girl's fists were clenched as she hammered on the call button for the elevator. Her violet eyes were filled with tears of rage that she refused to let fall - crying was a weakness, and she wasn't weak.

_But apparently you are,_ a soft, mocking voice whispered. _You couldn't beat that training dummy._

It had been a mistake to set all three on the highest level when she had only ever used two at a time at that high a setting. But her mentor had stressed the importance of impressing the Gamemakers. They saw feats of strength from the Careers all the time, she'd been told. If a Career wanted a high score, they had to do something outstanding.

And Kalliope had tried, she really had. She'd been so close to succeeding, too - two of the dummies had fallen within a minute, and she'd managed to hit the last one a few times. But then she'd slipped, her foot skidding on a dismembered dummy part, and she'd found herself off balance.

They'd had to actually pry the dummy off her, in the end.

The elevator arrived and Kalliope stepped in, still quivering with rage and humiliation. She couldn't possibly hope for a high score after that fiasco. She'd have to rely on the other Career's sponsors, at least until she'd proven her own strength in the arena. But would the Careers even still let her stay, after this?

"They'd _better_ let me stay," she growled to the empty elevator, though she wasn't quite sure what she'd do if they didn't.

_Dammit, Kalliope, how could you screw up like that?_

She balled up her fist and slammed it into the wall, cursing.

* * *

"Earendil Gilestel, District Ten. Also an Elven prince." The blonde boy smiled haughtily at the Gamemakers, brushing his long hair back. Then he made his way over to the archery station - of course, because that was what Elves were good at. Shooting arrows at stuff. Also stating the obvious - or maybe that was just him.

The first dozen arrows thudded into the ceiling beams in a perfectly straight line. Then into the targets - bullseyes every one, naturally.

"Also, I'm pretty good with a bow and arrows," he noted, stating the obvious to fill the silence. None of the Gamemakers looked particularly amused.

He spent the rest of his time shooting at the targets, trying to split his previous arrows in half. And, being the awesome Elven prince he was, he succeeded every time.

* * *

The knock on her door made Jacquelyn look up from the pendant in her hand. "Come in."

Raziel stuck his head in. "How did your session go?"

"It went well, of course." She flicked her pendant, watched it spin at the end of its chain. "I'm a pirate queen. They loved me."

"We're going into the arena the day after tomorrow."

"And?"

"I thought you might want to talk about that. Are we sticking to the usual strategy, then? Entering the bloodbath and killing everyone we can?" Raziel paused, watching the pendant spinning in the sunlight. "That seems to be the usual path for the Career alliance."

"I never really liked the Careers," Jacquelyn mused, voice soft. "Everyone in the training center... all the Careers that entered the arena... that lifestyle never appealed to me."

"And here you are." He sounded a bit confused - no doubt he couldn't comprehend, the poor boy. Raziel was in this to prove his strength, he'd told her that much. She couldn't imagine living a life with nothing more than that as a goal.

"It's better to be a pirate," she said. "Free on the deck of your ship, under no man's law, nothing but you and the world ahead, ready for you to explore it... that's the life for me." She sighed. "We'll do what we have to do. And kill if we have to. Do you think we should?"

"Of course."

"Then we'll do that." Jacquelyn grinned, leaning back and looking up at him. "And since I'm a pirate queen, I'll make sure the Careers do well this year."

"Good." Raziel turned and made his way to the door. She watched him leave, frowning.

"One last thing."

He stopped. "What's that?"

"Chelsia. I want you to kill her during the bloodbath."

Raziel nodded, and she felt a flash of gratitude for the fact that he didn't question her orders. That was what a true first mate did - obeyed his captain. And she didn't feel like explaining herself to him.

_Chelsia's a threat to me. She'd be the first to turn on me. And I need to keep my crew together. If they're divided about whether or not to let her in, then they won't work as well as they could._

It was up to the captain to unify her crew. She'd always been good at that. And if that meant getting rid of someone... so be it.

* * *

"RABBITS!" Radagast gasped, hurrying over to the corner of the private session room where (bizarrely enough) there was a convenient cage full of fluffy white rabbits.

"Um... aren't you going to show us something?" one of the Gamemakers asked, frowning. "I mean. Training scores. Aren't they sorta important?"

"Let him be, Merete," a red-haired Gamemaker snapped. "He can waste his time if he wants. No skin off our backs."

Radagast ignored them. To think that there had been such creatures in this building and he had never known it! These rabbits needed a friend - all animals did, in the end - and he was always willing to be a friend to a creature in need.

* * *

"How do you think you did?"

Mortimer glanced at Karsa disinterestedly, yawning. He was already dressed in the flannel pajamas he had received upon his arrival in the Capitol - they seemed to be his favorite article of clothing thus far. "I dunno. I don't really care, either."

"I thought you said you were good at all this and that's why you wouldn't bother to train." Karsa joined him on the couch, picking up the remote and turning the television on.

"I can't be bothered to try."

"That's a great attitude," she muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure you'll do splendidly in the arena."

"I'll get farther than you. If only to spite you."

Onscreen, the training scores began to flash by. The first three were nothing unusual - high scores for the Careers, as usual. The District Two girl only got a six, which was a pretty good score for anyone but a Career. Mortimer decided now was a good time to fall asleep, so he closed his eyes and did his best to ignore his partner's running commentary.

"Wonder what went wrong?" Karsa mused.

Mortimer couldn't care less.

"Oh, but look. You got a five. Not bad for someone who didn't try. But I doubt that you'll be getting many sponsors."

_Shut up so I can take a nap._

"Look, more high scores for District Four. And the Five girl that joined them, too."

_Shut up._

"Ha, girl from Six got a two. That's pathetic..." Karsa paused, and Mortimer kept his eyes closed, hoping she would stay quiet. "Oh, ouch. Did you see what District Eight got? A one. She's the blind one, right?"

_Do I look like I care?_

"Well, we've got a pretty low scoring group this year. District Nine girl only got a three. She's the creepy one, right? The one that thinks she can see people's deaths?" Karsa laughed. "Wonder if she told all the Gamemakers how they were going to die." She paused again, then giggled. "The freak from Eleven got a two. Serves him right."

"..."

"And looks like that's all." There was a click as Karsa turned the television off. "Aw, Mortimer, did you fall asleep _again_?"

* * *

**Pssh... chapters that I put no effort into.**

**TRAINING SCORES:**

**Grimmjow: 9**

**Katica: 9**

**Calixe: 10**

**Kalliope: 6**

**Mortimer: 5**

**Karsa: 6**

**Raziel: 9**

**Jacquelyn: 8**

**Rory: 5**

**Chelsia: 8**

**Natho: 4**

**Tina: 2**

**Kile: 3**

**Marianne: 4**

**Alexei: 5**

**Tirre: 1**

**Earendil: 5**

**Harora: 3**

**Anarion: 6**

**Annelisa: 5**

**Radagast: 2**

**Violet: 5**

**Thorin: 6**

**Amabel: 3**

**(and a note that next chapter is the interviews, the chapter after that is an interlude, and Chapter 11 will be the bloodbath!)**


	10. Interviews: Blood for Blood

**Interviews (Gamemaker p.o.v.)**

* * *

"Is Dayton ready?" Dany asked. "Let's get this over with. I want some cake."

Azuki frowned, fingers racing across the screen of her data pad. "We're good to go. Give the signal."

Dayton Ward, interviewer for the Hunger Games, strode onstage in a snow-white suit, green cat-eyes glowing under the lights. He waved to the crowd, grinning as the applause swelled. "Are y'all ready?" he called, blowing a kiss to the Gamemakers. Azuki gave the thumbs up.

The District One girl strode onstage in green suspenders and a grey fedora, and Azuki leaned back in her chair with a sigh. This was going to be a long night. It always was.

* * *

Grimmjow was dressed all in white, with some sort of bone half-mask affixed to his face. He lounged in the chair, grinning maniacally at Dayton.

"I'm a king, bitch," he said by way of greeting.

"Are you, now? And what gives you the right to say that, hm?" Dayton asked, a smile on his face.

"All creatures want to believe in something bigger than themselves. They cannot live without blind obedience." Grimmjow leaned forward, all traces of his playful smile gone. "And to escape the pressure of that trust, those in whom faith is place in turn look for someone higher than themselves. And then those people in turn look for someone stronger. That is how all kings are born."

Dayton blinked. "And so you are a king."

The District One boy held up a finger. "That is also how all gods are born."

* * *

Merete had never much liked the Careers. She knew they provided entertainment to most of her fellow Gamemakers - Kushana especially - but she'd never really seen the appeal of a killing machine. There was always less personality in them.

Of course, that didn't mean that every non-Career was a fascinating specimen, either. But she'd always liked them better.

So while the District Two girl pranced around in her purple and crystal dress, Merete decided to take a nap.

* * *

"That's a very handsome outfit, Calixe."

"It's... it's bright blue." The District Two boy picked at the fabric, grinning good-naturedly. "What can I say?"

Dayton laughed. "Outfit nonwithstanding, what do you think your chances are this year?"

"It does not matter what the chances are. Fate will decide." Calixe steepled his fingers and gazed thoughtfully over them at the interviewer. "I have always allowed Fate to govern my every decision. Fate wanted me to be here today, and so I am here. If Fate favors me, I shall be sitting here once again in a few weeks as your Victor."

* * *

Sansa sighed as the District Three girl strode onstage. The outfit wasn't that bad - baby blue princess dress, yellow lightning bolts - but the girl seemed to have no sense of decorum. The way she just stomped onstage, walking like she wasn't even aware of the watching crowd... deplorable.

"Well, we only have nineteen more of these to sit through," Kushana sighed, glancing at Sansa. "Think we can survive?"

* * *

"Only death can pay for life." The District Three boy nodded wisely, pushing his top hat back with one hand. He was wearing the sober black garb of a pallbearer, and seemed quite comfortable in it.

"Is that so?"

"But I don't really care about this whole Hunger Games thing." Mortimer yawned. "I'd rather stay at home, help my parents with the funeral home, talk to some dead bodies. Getting Reaped was such a bother."

"What's it like, working at a funeral home?"

"Fascinating." There was a dark light in Mortimer's eyes as he leaned forward. "Would you like me to describe the stages of death for you? At the moment of death, once the heart stops, all your muscles relax. This results in the emptying of your bladder and bowels - accounts for much of the stink of death. The skin turns an ashy grey."

Dayton shifted in his seat. "That's very-"

"After about half an hour," the District Three boy continued, plowing over the interviewer, "the skin purples and becomes waxy-looking. The extremities - lips, fingers, toes - get rather pale. Blood starts to pool at whatever point of the body is lowest, your hands and feet turn blue, and your eyeballs start to shrink into your skull-"

Dayton had never looked so relieved to hear the buzzer sound.

* * *

"So, Jacquelyn. My sources tell me you are the leader of your alliance this year. Tell me, how did you manage that?"

The District Four girl was actually dressed as a pirate this time - tricorn hat, ruffled shirt, a sword at her hip. "I am a pirate queen, you know. I can do anything." Her smile was almost wolflike, one hand on the hilt of her sword - which probably wasn't sharpened, but one never knew.

"A pirate? Is that really something you should be admitting to the entire country?" Dayton grinned, gesturing to the audience.

She lifted her chin, a gleam in her dark eyes. "A pirate like me doesn't fear the wrath of some stupid legal system. Besides, they can't touch me now. I'm going into the arena, aren't I? And once I've won this... well, they wouldn't want to harm a Victor, would they?"

* * *

"My strength? What about it?" Raziel smiled coldly at the interviewer. "I am strong, it is true. But strength is nothing without courage. What is the use of strength if you do not have the stomach to kill someone when it comes down to it?"

"And you believe you have this courage, then?"

"I have never doubted myself. I'm here to prove to everyone else that I'm strong enough."

* * *

"A non-Career girl in the Career alliance. She'll probably go for the tough-and-worthy angle." Azuki adjusted her glasses.

"The lab experiment. He lacks the intelligence to even come up with an angle," Sansa countered.

"The girl that's got that disease," Isis noted. "Oh, look, she fell down. Big surprise. Think she'll go for the help-me-because-I'm-sick angle?"

"And the boy with voices in his head. Well, we're used to that."

Kushana sighed, trying to block out the whispers of her fellow Gamemakers. They seemed to be occupying themselves by trying to predict what angle each upcoming tribute would use. And so far they'd been pretty much correct.

The District Seven girl decided to use her time to sing a song that probably had some symbolic meaning attached to it. But Kushana had never really cared much for symbolism.

* * *

"I never asked for an adventure." Kile crossed his arms, frowning at the interviewer. "And since I'm probably going to die right away, there's no real point in asking my opinion on things, is there?"

"Perhaps you will grow to enjoy this particular... adventure." Dayton quirked an eyebrow - it was clear he hadn't thought of the Hunger Games in those terms.

"Adventures aren't things that respectable Bagons of District Seven do. And that's final."

* * *

"Seems like it'd suck to be blind, huh?" Rowena commented as Tirre was led onstage by a Capitol attendent. Isis raised an eyebrow as the girl shook her helper off the instant they reached the chair.

_She hates being helped. She hates the pity._

And even though Isis found her book far more interesting than any interviews, she did pay attention to this one. The District Eight girl answered all of Dayton's questions with harsh, bitter dismissals, seeming to be annoyed that she even had to be there.

"She's not helping herself," Azuki noted, shaking her head.

"No, she'll never get sponsors this way," Merete said, agreeing with the red-haired Gamemaker, as usual.

The boy was marginally better - at least he engaged the interviewer in conversation. The fact that most of that conversation bordered on rebellious was another matter altogether.

"I get the feeling he's insulting us," Sansa sniffed. "I won't tolerate that from a peasant. Make sure something bad happens to him."

Isis took note of that in her notebook.

* * *

"So, Harora. Do you want to tell us anything about your strategy?"

The District Nine girl stared at Dayton, red eyes unblinking.

The interviewer cleared his throat and tried again. "How do you feel about the competition?"

"..."

"Who do you think is the biggest threat to you, of your fellow tributes?"

"..."

"Well. Um." Dayton glanced offstage as if seeking support. "What do you think of the Capitol, Harora?"

She looked up, a small smile on her face. "Tears unnumbered ye shall shed." Her voice was clear and fearless. "To evil end shall all things turn that you begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall you be forever. Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously, and have stained the land. For blood you shall render blood."

The buzzer sounded. Dayton didn't look particularly sad to see Harora walk offstage.

* * *

"...what was that?" Rowena turned to Sansa, giggling. "She was talking absolute nonsense."

"Well, according to our file on her, she has some sort of idea that she can see the future," Azuki noted.

"And she tends to be right, oddly enough," Merete added.

"I have no need for the nonsense of a peasant like her," Sansa sniffed. "It's all an act, anyways. No one can see the future."

Rowena watched the blonde from District Nine - Earendil - walk onstage, silver robe glittering under the lights. He made a few statements that made little or no sense, then spent the rest of his time commenting on the painfully obvious. None of the Gamemakers were really paying attention.

"But you never know," Merete whispered. "Maybe Harora really can see the future."

"But that's such an obvious prophecy to make," Sansa replied scornfully. "We've 'spilled blood', huh? No kidding. 'Blood for blood' or whatever? I mean, if she's suggesting a rebellion..."

"Rebellions are common things," Dany drawled, rolling her eyes. "Easy to put down. Lookit how long the Mockingjay Rebellion lasted."

The District Ten girl wore cornflower-blue dress that fluttered about her knees as she sat down, smiling shyly at the interviewer. Rowena frowned as she blushed and smiled her way through her interview, darting nervous glances at the audience.

"Sweet lil' girl," Dany commented.

"The innocents are always among the first to fall." Isis turned a page in her book.

* * *

"You volunteered, didn't you, Anarion?" Dayton asked, clasping his hands in his lap and smiling at the District Ten boy.

"I did." There was an oddly closed-off look on Anarion's face.

"And?"

"So what if I did?" he muttered. "It doesn't matter. I mean, we all die in the end. If I wanted to choose the method, then that's up to me, isn't it? I could get killed - someone could kill me - any time. It doesn't make a difference whether you're in the arena or at home." Anarion flexed his fingers, shot a glance at the watching cameras. "Murderers don't just live in the arena."

* * *

"Regina, wake up."

"..."

"Regina. You need to at least pretend to pay attention."

"..."

"Dammit, you're hopeless. I don't know why Dany lets you stay. It's not as though you do much work." Rowena sighed. "Shall I tell you what's going on?"

"..."

"The genius-girl from Eleven's up now. She's got some ridiculous braid with flowers and a pink dress that doesn't suit her at all." Her twin let out a huff of annoyance. "But we're almost through, so that's good."

"..."

"Wake up!" Rowena grabbed Regina's shoulder, shaking her. Regina's eyes flew open, bright blue and furious. She seized her sister's wrist and twisted until there was an audible crack. Rowena's face went pale.

"I wouldn't touch me if I were you, sweet sister," Regina whispered.

* * *

Radagast peered at the interviewer, adjusting his simple brown robe. "Many are the strange chances of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the wise falter."

"Is that so?" Dayton nodded, pretending he knew what the heck the boy was talking about.

* * *

Dany really wanted a cup of tea.

This whole Head-Gamemaker thing was only really interesting in the planning stages. There was nothing more satisfying than designing ways for innocent kids to die while sipping a steaming cup of Earl Grey. Though watching the Games play out was also fascinating. She preferred to drink green tea while running the arena, of course, but that was just personal preference.

The interviews were far from interesting. And she wasn't even allowed to bring tea up to the Gamemaker box.

"Look, it's anger management girl." Rowena pointed at the stage. The District Twelve girl was in a long red and orange dress with black stripes slashed through it.

"She looks like a tiger," Merete giggled.

"Does not. More like... a giraffe."

"Giraffes aren't even black!" Azuki snapped.

Dany sighed and rubbed her forehead. She couldn't wait for this to be over.

* * *

"I'm the King Under the Mountain, of course I'll win this." Thorin adjusted his sky-blue, fur-trimmed cloak with a small smile on his face. "Bad things happen to people who oppose me."

"Have there been many people opposing your rule?" Dayton asked, trying to look like he was taking this boy seriously.

"Every king has his rivals. I once razed a castle to the ground, though." Thorin smiled. "And then I composed a song about it. Want to hear it?"

"...sure."

Thorin whipped a harp out of apparently nowhere and launched into a mournful tune about a proud lord and his refusal to bow down.

"And now the rains weep o'er his halls with no one there to hear," he proclaimed, striking a final chord. "Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls, and not a soul to hear..."

* * *

**If you can identify any of the quotes used, you get a virtual cookie (and no, not everyone was quoting from something else, but a few were, so...).**

**Next chapter will be a brief check-in with all the tributes (the night before the launch). Then... it's into the arena we go!**


	11. The Deep Breath Before The Plunge

**The Night Before**

* * *

"You're doomed, you know." Katica casually shrugged off her outfit, stepping out of the green fabric and leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor. Grimmjow frowned.

"Me? I am a King."

"So you've said." She crossed the room, half-naked, and dug a pair of silk pajama pants out of her drawer. "But if you're not part of the Career alliance, there's no way you'll live past the bloodbath."

"Really? Shows what you know. I'm trained. And I have my own alliance."

"Right. The freak from Eleven and the weirdo from Ten. Because that's so helpful."

Grimmjow glared at her. "Do not insult my subjects. They are loyal - more than could be said of you."

"Jackie will order you killed," she pointed out.

"Like she stands a chance against the king." Grimmjow took a sip from the cup he was holding. "By the way, I'll be keeping an eye out for you in the arena, Katica. So I can kill you."

"Oh, really?" She lifted her chin, smirking. "That's only if I don't kill you first."

* * *

Calixe flipped his coin into the air, watching it flash golden in the lamplight. He held Fate in his hands, here. No one was as powerful as he was.

"Will you stop that?"

He looked up. "I thought you were asleep."

Kalliope sighed. "Not me. I decided I wanted a midnight snack. What're you doing up?" She held up a hand, forestalling his reply. "Don't tell me. You're communing with Fate or something like that."

Calixe nodded. "Fate often speaks to me on the eve of some great event." He tossed the coin into the air again. It bounced onto the tabletop, heads up.

"What's Fate saying, then?"

He smiled. "Fate will favor me tomorrow."

* * *

Karsa tapped the pen against the paper, frowning. This time tomorrow she'd be in the arena - if she survived the bloodbath, that was.

_Dear Dante..._

What could she say to her little brother? What words could she put to paper that could ever comfort him in place of her? She'd come here determined to win, and that hadn't changed... but after seeing the competition, she wasn't so sure her chances were as high as she'd thought. This might be her last chance to give Dante something.

_I hope you know that I'm doing my best to get home to you. But let's face it - when have I ever had any luck? All those times we tried to sneak out of the District, escape this terrible place... and we got caught every time, didn't we?_

She smiled. It had been such fun, planning escapes with her brother. Even if they did get caught, even if they did risk their lives... there was a certain thrill to be had there, living like that.

But she had no friends here. Dante wasn't here. So there would be nothing fun about this Game.

_Never give up hope, Dante. Never stop trying. If one day you escape this place, make sure you remember me. If I don't come home..._

Something in her knew she'd never see her brother again.

_Just know that I love you, Dante. And I'd do anything for you._

_You big sister,_

_Karsa_

* * *

Jacquelyn couldn't sleep.

It wasn't that she was nervous - far from it. She was actually quite excited for tomorrow, and everything it would bring. The death, the killing... and leading her crew through it like a true captain. It was what she had been born to do. It was her first, best destiny.

Her crew...

It was nothing like her band of friends back home in District Four. For one, every person in the Career alliance was willing to backstab her to gain victory. She couldn't trust them very far - except perhaps Raziel. And even he would cast aside any loyalty he had for her if it meant he would walk out of the arena alive.

But she was sure that she could handle her allies.

Katica seemed like an honestly nice person, under the tough-Career exterior. She also didn't seem smart enough to be formulating any kind of treacherous plan in that little brain of hers. The real danger lay in her puppy-like infatuation with Kalliope. The District Two girl... she seemed a lot more vicious than the others.

_Kalliope might have to die. Soon. But not until I've gotten Chelsia out of the way._

And if all went well, Raziel would take care of that tomorrow.

Calixe was a harmless freak, as far as she could tell. As long as Fate didn't tell him it was a good idea to knife his leader in her sleep, she should be safe from him. And perhaps she could use that obsession to her advantage.

And Raziel... he was faithful to her. To a point.

_He's my first mate. I'll have to depend on him at the beginning, but eventually..._

Well, every captain ended up making hard decisions at some point in their career. And there was not a pirate on all the seas that did not have bloodstained hands.

* * *

"Did the Careers let you in?"

Chelsia nodded. "Sure did. No thanks to you. I thought maybe, since you were so strong, they'd let you in, too... but, you know."

"Doesn't matter," Rory grunted. "Not worth my time."

"What d'you mean, not worth your time?" Chelsia frowned. "Don't you realize that the Careers almost always make it to the top ten? And that over fifty percent of the Victors come from Districts One, Two, and Four?"

"And you are from Five."

"That's irrelevant. I'm still trained, aren't I?"

"You're going to die," Rory said bluntly. "Your training isn't going to help you. You're not as strong as me."

Chelsia glared at him. "Well, I'll be sure to live longer than you, at least."

* * *

"Who should I kill?" Natho asked the empty air, tracing his finger along the smooth wood of the bedposts. "I need someone else in here, don't I? To get through this, I mean."

There was no answer - at least, no audible one. His face shifted, personalities warring within him for a few brief seconds.

"Someone smart, then. I can't go for any of the strong ones... they'd crush me. Some untrained non-Career with brains. Someone I could kill easily."

Not that killing was ever easy.

_But that doesn't have to matter. Let Jevi take over, let her do her thing... then killing is easy._

* * *

"Are you still determined to have no part in this adventure?"

Kile groaned. "Go away and let me sleep, Marianne. We need to be rested for tomorrow."

"Why do you care? It's not like you bothered to ally with me." Marianne snorted. "Naw, you're too obsessed with that weirdo from Twelve. What's his name? Theo?"

"Thorin," Kile snapped. "Thorin Oakenshield."

"That one." She giggled. "He's so weird. All that stuff about King Under the Mountain... what is he, crazy?"

"Shut up."

"Getting defensive, are we?" Marianne grinned. "Why would you care so much about someone like him-"

"I said, shut up!" Kile threw his pillow at the girl.

* * *

The sound of a soft sob jolted Alexei from his uneasy sleep. "...Tirre?"

His only answer was a soft sniffling sound from the room next door. Glancing at the clock, Alexei swept his blankets aside and stood, bare feet sinking into the think carpet. He padded over to the door and eased it open, stepping into the hallway. His District partner's room was right next to his.

"Tirre, are you okay?" he whispered, one hand on the doorknob.

"Go 'way," she snapped, voice muffled by the thick wooden door - and yes, also muffled with tears. He wasn't surprised.

"If something's wrong..." Actually, that was a stupid question. Everything was wrong, wasn't it? They were about to enter the arena. No wonder she was crying. "I'm coming in, Tirre, so make sure you're decent." He tried to laugh, but the sound fell flat.

She raised her head as he entered, milky white eyes reflecting the dim light of the hall lamp. "I don't need you in here."

"Sure you do." He stepped over the crumpled outfit at the base of the bed - the one she'd worn to the interviews, no doubt. "There's no shame in feeling some fear, you know."

"I'm not afraid!" she spat, sitting up and shoving her pillow aside.

"Good." He grinned, sat down next to her. "That's what they want, you know. The Gamemakers want us to be so afraid we can't think, because that's how we can get out of this. By thinking." He tapped her forehead, then brushed her cheek with one finger. His hand came away wet. "Want to hear my plan?"

She sniffed a bit, leaned into him. "Sure."

"We probably won't end up on plates right next to each other, but chances are I'll at least be able to see you." Needless to say, she wasn't going to be able to see him, but that didn't have to be an issue. "Now. When the gong sounds, I want you to stay put, all right? I'll come to you as quick as I can, and if I can grab something useful on my way out, then that's even better. We'll run away, find a hiding spot, and it'll all be okay."

"Why bother?" Her voice was low and bitter as she pulled away from him. "There's no way someone like me can survive this, I'm _blind_, for God's sake..."

"And I'm not." Alexei shook his head. "I promise you, I won't let anyone hurt you, okay?"

"That's a stupid promise," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around him.

* * *

"Can you tell me how I'll die?" Earendil met Harora's red eyes, then looked away just as quickly. "I mean, there's no way the stuff you say comes true or anything. But I wanted to know what you thought."

Of course he didn't believe her. No one ever did - until it was too late.

_You don't really want to know, Mr._ _Elf-prince._

"Well?"

She mumbled something under her breath, hoping he'd go away and leave her alone. It didn't work.

"C'mon. Or are you too much of a coward? Afraid I'll see through your act?"

"It's not an act," she spat, suddenly angry. The world was full of ignorant disbelievers, but if they chose to ignore her warnings, she would not allow them to make a fool of her.

"Then tell me."

She looked at him, looked into those light grey eyes, and _knew_.

(his blood on her hands, bright red, so much of it - she'd never known there was that much blood in anyone)

"There's a knife," she said, voice taking on the cold, lilting quality it tended to when she made a prediction. "Underestimating your opponents is never a good idea. And it takes you a long time to die, alone in the woods, because your allies deserted you. Sometimes there is no right choice, they said, but the right choice for you would have been to grant you the mercy of dying with dignity, not screaming at the sky above with your guts hanging from the wound in your stomach. And you knew I was right, in the end, even though you don't believe me now."

Earendil stared at her.

_They never believe me until they see it come true._

* * *

Annelisa was asleep. And Anarion was watching her.

His District partner had fallen asleep on the couch, watching the Capitol recap of the interviews. She was still dressed in the cornflower blue dress she had worn that night, though it was now slightly wrinkled, and her mouth was half-open.

_Such an innocent. Too bad she's going to die._

People like her always died.

His brother had been an innocent, too. So trusting, like there was no evil in the world. Always smiling. Maybe that was why their father had loved him so much more than the sullen, quiet Anarion.

His brother hadn't been smiling at the end, with Anarion's hands wrapped around his neck, his face turning purple...

_They called it an accident. And I got away with it._

He still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Annelisa shifted in her sleep, a smile crossing her face, and he wondered what she was dreaming of. He hoped it was something happy.

* * *

"I'm going to bed now," Violet informed her District partner.

Radagast nodded amiably. "Very well."

"Aren't you planning on doing the same?"

The boy shook his head.

"What, do wizards not need to sleep or something?" Violet snapped. "You're so illogical. Don't you realize that if you don't sleep, you'll be even more pathetic tomorrow? There's already a high chance you'll be a bloodbath tribute, maybe you should worry about that."

"Perhaps... perhaps you should be worried."

Radagast's words made her narrow her eyes, but there was no threat there - only open, honest concern for her wellbeing. That was part of what infuriated her so much about this idiot.

"Why would I worry? I'm a genius. Smarter than all of you combined." She laughed, turning away. "I'll never die in the bloodbath."

* * *

"So. Your interview went well."

Thorin glanced up at Amabel. "Who said you could speak to the King Under the Mountain?" he snapped.

"Hey, I was just trying to be nice." Amabel grinned. "But you have a great voice. How come you don't sing more often?" She didn't mention the harp he had pulled out of thin air onstage - that was probably just something Dwarven princes could do.

"There is nothing to sing of but death and ruin."

"I don't mind." She smiled. "You can sing another song if you want to."

"Very well." Thorin cleared his throat. "Though I usually have an accompanying group of humming Dwarves."

"...if you say so."

The boy closed his eyes. "Far over the misty mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old. We must away, ere break of day to find our long forgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the heights, the winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light..."

* * *

**...don't mind the blatant references...**

**So not everyone got a point of view, but that's okay. Most everyone showed up. Not... Mortimer or Raziel. In case you were wondering.**

**And the next chapter is the bloodbath. Also. With the pre-Games done, who are your favorite tributes?**


	12. Bloodbath: I'm Not Afraid

**For the record. If your tribute dies in the bloodbath, please don't take it personally. It is in no way an indication of my feelings about you as a person. It is also generally not fueled by an intense hatred of the character. So please, don't read if you aren't fully prepared to watch your character die**.

**A friendly reminder that there is only one Victor, and that there is a 4.167% chance that your tribute will be that person.**

**Without further ado, it's time enter the arena! Let the 102nd Hunger Games begin!**

* * *

**Bloodbath**

* * *

Calixe ran his fingers over his outfit, frowning. A long black cloak... black pants, a black tunic, and tall black boots. An odd thing to put tributes in. He wondered if it was another nighttime arena - and if the black was for camouflage.

He stepped into the tube, twitching the cloak to make sure it didn't get caught in the sliding door. As he started to rise, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hand clenched around his lucky coin, and he had to resist the urge to toss it again. Fate favored him. He needed to stop worrying about this.

The tube burst into the sunlight and he blinked, shading his eyes as he stepped onto the golden plate. So it wasn't a nighttime arena.

What it was, though, was a bit unclear.

As far as he could tell, it was some sort of cheerful, happy village. The houses seemed to be built _into_ the many hills, with gardens overflowing with flowers in the front. There were a few dirt paths, a few trees, and a small pond. He half expected to see some cheerful inhabitants tending the gardens and running around, but it was eerily silent.

Calixe looked up, realizing that the countdown had begun awhile ago. The girl from District Three was on his left, and the girl from Twelve on his right. He could see Jacquelyn across the circle.

_40... 39... 38... 37... 36... 35..._

Jacquelyn was also dressed all in black, but that didn't seem to be true of everyone there. In fact, there were nine of them - including Calixe - and no apparent connection between them other than the outfits. Most of the others wore some combination of green and brown. Almost everyone wore cloaks.

_20... 19... 18... 17... 16... 15..._

The cornucopia was dead ahead, weapons and backpacks spilling out onto the bright green grass. He spotted a sword and smiled - his best weapon.

_5... 4... 3... 2... 1... gong!_

He launched off his plate and sprinted for the sword, only to see Kalliope - somehow there before him - snatch it up. Scowling, he grabbed a nearby javelin and watched the tributes scatter. A few ran down the dirt paths, away from the bloodbath - either a very smart or a very cowardly move.

There was a piercing scream from beside him and he turned to see Kalliope's sword buried in the District Seven girl's stomach. She pulled it out, and bright red blood spattered the grass. Marianne wavered, then fell, a stain spreading across her light brown shirt.

"One down," Kalliope said, grinning and kicking the girl with one heavy black boot. She was rewarded with another scream. "Oh, shut up." Her sword flashed, and Marianne's head parted company with her shoulders.

"Marianne!" The District Five boy, the one with all the muscles charged Kalliope. The District Two girl sidestepped, sweeping her sword up, but Rory dodged it and grabbed her, pulling her into a bone-crushing grip. Calixe winced as something snapped and Kalliope let out a wavery scream.

_...guess I'd better do something now?_

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was trying to sneak up on him. Then he swung the javelin, the point thudding into Rory's shoulder. The massive boy turned, dropping Kalliope. The motion wrenched the javelin from his shoulder, and a gout of dark red splashed Calixe's arm.

"Get out," Calixe snapped, pointing the bloodstained weapon at Rory's face.

The District Five boy gave him a blank look and turned away.

"I'M A KING, BITCH!" Grimmjow appeared out of _literally nowhere_ and stabbed Rory.

Calixe blinked. "What?"

The District One boy shoved Rory to the ground, silver blade streaked with red. "You should never let an enemy walk free," he informed Calixe and Kalliope, who was huddled on the ground clutching her arm. "That's never a good idea."

Calixe moved forward, readying his javelin, but Grimmjow smirked and spun away, evading him easily.

"See ya later, District Two."

* * *

"All right!" Chelsia cheered. "This is pretty fun, isn't it?"

Raziel glanced at her. "Is it, now."

"Well. It could be a lot more fun..." She smiled up at him almost flirtatiously, twirling a knife in her fingers. "If you let me kill someone now."

"Jacquelyn wanted you to stay here," Raziel replied, face an emotionless mask.

"You're no fun," Chelsia pouted. "She isn't the boss of me, anyways. If I want to kill someone, I can do what I want." She turned away, searching for likely prey. The District Twelve girl wasn't too far - and she seemed to be occupied with stuffing supplies into a bag.

_I think I'll kill her. Prove that I'm strong and all that, right?_

She stepped forward. Something slammed into her back and she staggered, a gasp escaping her lips. She looked down, eyes wide, to see something silver and blood-stained poking out of her chest.

"I'm sorry." Raziel sounded almost sad. "I don't like betraying people like this. But Jacquelyn ordered it."

"You..." She couldn't quite finish that. An iron taste welled up in her mouth and she spat, watching the blood spray across the grass, feeling it trickle down her chin.

_But... I was going to win._

* * *

"Amabel!" Annelisa grabbed her ally's arm, pulling her away from the bloodbath. "We have to get out of here!"

"Right." Amabel slung the pack she had grabbed over one shoulder. "Where to?"

Annelisa considered their surroundings. There were no convenient forests nearby, only these rows and rows of hills with round doors built into them. They could theoretically duck into one of those, but she could only see one entrance to each - which meant only one exit. Walking into one of those would be as good as walking into a trap.

"Just... let's get away."

"I second that." Amabel grinned and started running down the path, little puffs of dust rising under her feet. She had a more refined outfit than Annelisa had - instead of an almost childlike brown and green outfit, she wore a hooded green cloak over a tunic embroidered with a silver tree.

"What'd you get?" Annelisa asked, nodding at the pack on her ally's back.

"Here." Amabel tossed her a red and gold knife, complete with a sheath. "I got a short sword, too. Should be useful."

* * *

Alexei dodged a fleeing girl - looked like the creepy one from District Nine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tina from Six fall and lie motionless on the grass.

There was a blur of motion and a black-clad figure stood over the fallen girl, a curved sword in her hand. Alexei winced as Jacquelyn swung it down, the blade biting deep into the helpless girl's neck.

_Doesn't matter. I have to help Tirre. I can't worry about anything else._

He could see his ally, still waiting on her plate like he'd told her to, trembling with fear. She flinched as the girl from Eleven was cut down mere feet from her by Natho from Six. Alexei stepped over Violet's body and grabbed Tirre's arm, panting. "I'm here. It's fine. Let's go-"

"Leaving so soon, Eight?" a voice asked from behind him, and Alexei froze.

_No. Please, no, we were so close..._

Calixe's hand clamped down on Alexei's shoulder and he found himself falling backwards, thrust to the ground by the District Two boy. He tried to scramble to his feet, but a heavy black boot forced him back down, bruising his chest.

"Which one of you should I kill?" Calixe mused, blue eyes thoughtful. He reached into his pocket and flipped a coin into the air, smiling as it flashed in the oddly cheerful sunlight.

Alexei struggled to pull away. "Get off me, you bastard," he gasped.

Calixe pocketed the coin. "How rude. But Fate has not decreed that you will die today." He turned towards Tirre and lifted his javelin.

"Alexei?" Tirre's milky white eyes were wide, terror clear on her face.

"Run, Tirre!" he screamed, clawing at Calixe's leg, trying to get away. She turned and took a few, stumbling steps away before the javelin caught her just under her left shoulder, iron point driving through her in a spray of blood. If she screamed, it was lost in the noise of the bloodbath.

Dimly, he was aware of Calixe stepping back, letting him up, and retreating. He crawled to where Tirre lay, his vision blurring with tears. "Tirre..."

"Where are you?" she whispered, voice a broken gasp, and he bit back a sob.

"I'm right here, Tirre. And you're gonna be fine - we just have to get away from here-" He reached down to lift her up but stopped at the sight of cold metal poking through her shoulder. If he moved her now, she'd die even sooner.

_Don't think that,_ some childish part of him whispered. _If you think that, it'll come true. _But it already had come true, and there was no use in pretending that the girl before him was going to survive this.

"Tirre, I'm so sorry."

"You have to go," she hissed. "Now!" Her face contorted with pain and she whimpered, but her hand pushed him away, away from her and from the bloodbath.

He staggered to his feet and stood above her, swiping the tears away. "I'm sorry," he said again, feeling useless.

Somehow, she managed to smile. "It's okay, Alexei. I'm not afraid anymore. Go!"

Alexei turned and ran. Somewhere behind him, the cannons began to sound, six long booms.

* * *

**The Fallen:**

**24) Marianne Vierro (killed by Kalliope): Someone like her wouldn't have lasted for long, anyways.**

**23) Rory Lenin (killed by Grimmjow): Well, his ally died... but he did manage to injure Kalliope before he died, too.**

**22) Chelsia Lovemoda (killed by Raziel): And thus Jacquelyn gets rid of Chelsia. Like she wanted to. And Raziel got a kill!**

**21) Tina Hudson (killed by Jacquelyn): I really don't have much commentary for most of these deaths. I mean, she falls down and stuff. She was kinda helpless.**

**20) Violet Oria (killed by Natho): She was smart, yeah. But Natho killed her. Presumably that means she's now living in his head (and that is such a weird thing to say, you don't even know...)**

**19) Tirre Etolles (killed by Calixe): There's this rule, see, that if you explicitly state a plan then it has to go disastrously wrong. At least in my opinion. And also she was blind. But she was one of my favorites, so I'm actually kinda sad about that. **

******Tributes remaining (18 total): Jacquelyn/Kalliope/Katica/Calixe/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast, Thorin/Kile, Amabel/Annelisa, Mortimer, Karsa, Natho, Alexei, Harora, Earendil**


	13. Day Shall Come Again

**Night One**

* * *

The sun was setting over the arena, doing all sorts of things to the evening sky that probably called for flowery, overly dramatic metaphors. Raziel, of course, had no time for that sort of thing - nor did he have the artistic talent to produce said metaphors, but that was another matter entirely.

"Is that all?" he asked his fellow Careers, casting a critical eye over to supplies piled in what appeared to be the entrance hall of the hill-house his alliance had claimed as their base camp. The cornucopia, still visible through the open door, appeared to be empty, the grass around it still splattered with stains that looked black in the fading light.

Calixe nodded. "Sure is." He took a step through the door and promptly banged his head on a hanging lamp, setting it to swinging. He fell back, rubbing his head and wincing.

Kalliope giggled. "Having some problems, Cal? Or did Fate tell you to do that?"

The District Two boy straightened, unperturbed. "Why exactly must we stay here?" he asked, stepping inside, avoiding the lamp this time. He shut the round green door behind him, sealing out the growing dusk. "It looks like it was built for a midget."

"Would you rather sleep outside?" Jacquelyn appeared in the doorway leading to what appeared to be a dining room, grinning. "There's a fireplace, and beds, and a lock on the door. As captain, I deem this a suitable berth for the night."

_At least there's less of a chance of us getting attacked by mutts in the middle of the night. _Raziel thought it best to not speak such things out loud, though - there was no point in tempting the Gamemakers. Not that he was especially worried, as Jacquelyn was smart enough to take the obvious precaution of setting a watch no matter how safe this place seemed. Appearances were deceiving, after all, especially in the arena.

There was a soft yelp from the kitchen, and Katica stumbled in, followed by a billowing cloud of black smoke. She sucked her burned fingers, trying to smile sheepishly around them at her allies. Raziel wrinkled his nose at the charred smell wafting in on the smoke.

"Um... I'm not all that good at cooking?" she offered. "Does someone else want to try?"

Kalliope turned away and pulled out her knife, going mysteriously deaf as she began to sharpen it.

"Cook? A captain doesn't have to do that, that's what galley slaves are for," Jacquelyn replied, shrugging.

Calixe gave Katica a blank stare. "Can't we just eat the supplies we got from the cornucopia? I'm fairly sure we wouldn't have to cook those."

The District One girl deflated a bit, looking at the ground. "I - I thought... well, there was food already here, and I thought we'd want to save our supplies for later, in case we had to leave here..."

Raziel watched as she trailed off, shifting from one foot to the other. It was quite odd that this girl, a trained Career, so deadly in training, could be so shy and meek with her allies. She also seemed rather lacking in the planning-ahead department.

"Food that was already here, huh?" Kalliope tilted her head to one side, a confident spark in her purple eyes. There was a teasing smile on her face. "Maybe it's poisoned."

Katica blanched, hand flying to her mouth. "But - I..."

"If you haven't died already, I'm sure it's fine," Jacquelyn drawled. "But you might want to put out that fire before this place burns down around us."

Raziel stepped past Katica into the kitchen, lifting the smoking pan off the cookstove and scraping the blackened contents into the sink. Katica trailed after him, a helpless expression on her face.

"Can I do anything...?"

"I've got it," he grunted, pulling open the cupboard and surveying the food stocked in it. He had been cooking for his family since he was eleven - it was just one of those practical skills he had acquired over the years. He hadn't really expected to have to use it in the arena, of course, but at least it came in handy.

* * *

As far as Grimmjow, Anarion, and Radagast knew, they were alone in their little camp under a spreading tree in the middle of a field. So they were understandably surprised when a tall boy with long blonde hair appeared out of apparently nowhere, a bow slung across his back.

"They're taking the hobbits to Isengard," he said by way of greeting.

"I'M A KING, BITCH!" Grimmjow yelled, which was apparently his reaction to any unexpected occurrence. Anarion lept to his feet and pulled out a knife, placing himself between his king and the newcomer. Radagast merely looked a tiny bit surprised.

"Calm down," Earendil said, grinning up at the scowling Anarion. "If I'd wanted to kill your boyfriend, I'd have done so long ago. You breathe so loudly I could shoot you in the dark."

"You-" Even in the dim light, it was clear that Anarion was blushing. "He's not my boyfriend!" he finally blurted, apparently his only contention with the District Nine boy's statement.

"If you say so." Earendil inclined his head in Radagast's direction. "Ah, an Istari. Very nice to meet you. Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn - a star shines on the hour of our meeting."

"Radagast the Brown, at your service," the District Eleven boy replied. "Earendil, I suppose?"

"Earendil the Elven Prince," he replied, standing and bowing slightly.

"_I'm_ the King here," Grimmjow cut in, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Of course!" Earendil grinned. "I would never contest the authority of one such as you. Heir to the lost realm and all that."

"So will you follow me?"

"Sure."

Anarion blinked, looking very confused. "...what just happened?"

"I do believe we have another ally," Radagast replied.

"Allies are good," Earendil added. "For the night is dark and full of terrors."

"...something like that, yeah." Anarion stared at the taller boy, a suspicious expression on his face.

* * *

Karsa was curled up under a bush, on the edge of sleep, when she felt cold fingers encircle her neck. They tightened slightly and she stiffened as a familiar voice whispered into her ear, warm breath tickling her skin.

"I could kill you right now, you know."

"I bet you could," she replied, opening her eyes. "But that'd be too much effort, wouldn't it?"

Mortimer sighed, and she felt the fingers withdraw. She sucked in a breath of cold night air, hoping he couldn't hear how hard her heart was pounding. "You know me too well, Karsa."

"Something like that." She rolled over, regarded him in the moonlight. "Have you got any supplies?"

"If I did, do you think I'd be following you?"

"I haven't got enough to spare," she snapped, sitting up. "I'll have a hard enough time keeping myself alive, thank you very much, I don't need someone like _you_ tagging along-"

"Says the person who almost got strangled ten seconds ago," he replied cooly. Something flashed in his hand - a thin silver knife. "Besides. There's a certain skill that comes with working in a funeral home. Bladework used in dissections can be just as handy when used on other subjects."

Karsa frowned. Mortimer had a point.

"Besides." His teeth gleamed white in the moonlight as he grinned at her. "Us District Three kids have to stick together, huh?"

She bit back a cutting response - _you're no more a normal District Three kid than I am -_ and nodded. "Fine. Just... no more strangling attempts, okay?"

His reply was an unsettling smile and a shrug. "We'll see about that, I suppose."

* * *

Natho watched the two sleeping girls with eyes that weren't his own, the knife in his hands glinting in the soft starlight.

_Killing them would be logical,_ he thought, and it wasn't his thought, it belonged to the girl he'd killed only a few hours ago. Violet tossed the knife into the air, a smile on her face. _Such idiots don't deserve to live - they didn't even set a watch._

Based on what he could see - the District Twelve girl leaning against a tree, a sword by her side - they had tried to set a watch. But it was hard for untrained kids to stay up all night, and they were both no doubt exhausted from the rather stressful bloodbath.

_Killing them gets rid of competition._

Two girls weren't much of a competition. Annelisa was only a shy, animal-loving kid, and Amabel's only real asset was a slightly rebellious streak and some anger management problems. Then again, anger management was something Natho - or more specifically, Jevi - was quite familiar with. And speaking of Jevi...

_They look a lot like her. Your sister._

He pulled away, shoving the knife into his belt. "Go away," he muttered. "If I want smart strategies, you can come out again. But I'm not gonna kill some random girls just 'cause you don't like them."

* * *

******You guys... I'm impressed at how many of you got what the arena was... (as if no one saw that coming, considering the tributes this year)**

**********Tributes remaining (18 total): Jacquelyn/Kalliope/Katica/Calixe/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil, Thorin/Kile, Amabel/Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Alexei, Harora**


	14. From Whence You Came

**Day Two Part One**

* * *

"Well. You're up awfully early. I thought Sansa and the twins had the night shift?"

Isis peered at Kushana over the edge of her book. "As are you. And I merely wished to see my arena in action. It's a dawn change, remember?"

"As if I could forget." Kushana stepped aside, allowing Isis into the room. "Dany has yet to appear - no surprise there - and Merete's still abed, but everyone else is here already. Rowena tried to start a betting pool on whether you'd show up before either of them, but Azuki put a stop to that."

"Oh, Azuki. Always so responsible." Isis took her seat near the head of the table, smiling slightly at the other Gamemakers. "Are we ready?"

"Ready and waiting for your command," Rowena replied, grinning.

Isis settled back in her chair, lips curving up in a rather unsettling smile. "Go."

* * *

The first indication Amabel had that all was not right was a low, ominous rumbling noise.

She sat up, sleeping bag falling off of her, and groped for her sword. Squinting through the grey pre-dawn light, she staggered to her feet and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. The sky to the east was lightening, and her ally was still asleep despite the growing din...

The sun slipped over the horizon and all hell broke loose.

Annelise woke with a scream as the ground beneath Amabel's feet disintegrated, raining dirt down into inky darkness. The District Twelve girl tried to reach for her ally, but she was too far away. Everything was falling away-

_Is this where I die?_

A wave of rage overwhelmed Amabel at that thought - it wasn't _fair_, she shouldn't die like this, the second day, so far from victory - this was all a Gamemaker plot, they'd wanted to kill her ever since she'd attacked that trainer, just because she didn't agree with them-

And her feet hit stone. She crumpled to the ground, gasping and looking around. Her sword clattered down a few paces away, and she looked up in time to see a whirl of darkness fade away. So the arena had dumped her here - wherever _here_ was - without harming her.

And also without her ally.

"Dammit!" She lept to her feet and scooped up her sword, turning in a circle. There was probably something dangerous here, otherwise why move her at all?

The sound of footsteps came form behind her and she whirled, snarling, then froze at the sight of an almost familiar face.

"Hey, calm down," the boy said, raising his empty hands. She didn't miss the fact that there was a sword at his belt, though, sheathed beside what looked like a horn.

"Who're you?" Amabel didn't lower her sword.

"Anarion." He glanced around, then up at the sky. "Any idea why they dropped us here? Because I was with my alliance, and now they're nowhere to be found-"

Now she remembered. This was the District Nine boy, the one that had allied with Grimmjow from One. Did that mean he was a Career, too?

"And how do I know they're not here, waiting to ambush me?" she snapped.

He regarded her with cold grey eyes, something in his face that scared her a bit. "Look. I don't know what's going on any more than you do, but maybe it would help if you weren't a paranoid little brat and tried to _help_ me here. I can't prove that I'm not trying to kill you, but that doesn't mean much. Besides, if I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now." And coming from that mouth, it didn't sound like a threat so much as a calm statement of fact.

"Fine." She forced herself to bring her arm down, though she still refused to sheath her blade. "Shall we investigate the arena, then?"

He nodded and moved away from her. They were standing on what seemed like the top level of a city, built all of white stone against a mountain. Their level seemed to cut out into the city, tapering at the end like the prow of a ship, lined with green lawns and a single dead tree in the middle.

"Anyone could be hiding down there," she pointed out, nodding to the city below. The rising sun blinded her as she turned, looking out across the plains to where a line of black mountains cut across the horizon. "And look over there. Is that smoke?"

Anarion frowned. "Perhaps. I would suggest we not trouble ourselves with that. But down there..." He pointed to where a thin silver ribbon of river cut through the grasslands, almost halfway between this city and the dark mountains. On either side of it was what looked like ruins, grey, toppled towers and mossy stone.

"Want to explore it?" she asked, grinning. "Could be fun."

He gave her a measuring look. "Fun can quickly turn deadly in the arena," he warned.

"Fine. I'll go myself." But when she turned away, he followed.

* * *

"Thorin!" Kile grabbed his ally's sleeve as the District Twelve boy spun away, eyes wide. "Don't leave me-" The wind snatched the words from his mouth as the ground disappeared. The two of them were spinning through nothingness, cold air whipping at their skin, tugging at their clothes.

He had time for one thought - _at least I won't die alone -_ before his feet hit the ground.

"What the hell?" Thorin scrambled up, drawing his knife. "Where-"

Blinking, Kile looked around. They seemed to be in some underground cavern, sunlight streaming in through slit windows in the rock walls.

"This..." Thorin was turning in a circle now, a small smile of astonishment spreading across his face. "It's almost as if this is familiar... why...?"

"Looks like a cave," Kile muttered, standing and dusting off his clothes. "Nasty, dirty cave, too. I'd rather be back in that cute little hole-house we were staying in. It was almost like we weren't on an adventure before this happened."

"Oh, hush." His ally turned and hurried down a hall. Kile had no choice but to follow. "Do you think there's something in here that could help us? Why else would the Gamemakers have-" His ally broke off with a shocked gasp.

"What?" Kile asked, irritated. "What is it?" He shoved past Thorin and froze at the sight that awaited him beyond the doorway.

Pile upon pile of glittering gold, some in coins and some in simple bars. Stacks of weapons, gleaming silver in the dusty shafts of sunlight. And jewels beyond count, in every shade of the rainbow, shining from cracks and crannies everywhere.

"Treasure?" Kile muttered. "Seems like the Gamemakers are giving us an advantage, too, with all these weapons." He glanced at Thorin, but the taller boy didn't seem to be listening. His eyes were wide with wonder, dark brown reflecting the gold. "And the Gamemakers never give tributes an advantage without adding a risk..."

Thorin brushed past him and made his way over to the nearest pile of gold. "This is like the treasure of my sires. Great Kings they were, till it was stolen..."

"But this is the arena!" Kile protested, grabbing Thorin's sleeve. The District Twelve boy shook him off. "There's bound to be a trap. Probably... spring loaded knives under the gold. Or poisoned darts shooting out of the walls."

"Shut up." Thorin knelt and ran his hands through the gold. "See? No traps. It's fine."

Kile frowned, glancing at the treasure. There were odd disturbances in it, like giant footprints. And the way it was piled up, like some sort of nest...

"I really think we should get out of here," he said, voice a nervous squeak. "Really, Thorin..."

"Relax, Kile. We'll be _fine_." And Thorin sat down amid the treasure, grinning.

* * *

Alexei woke to singing birds and sunlight and almost called for Tirre before he remembered.

_She's dead._

He pushed the blankets aside and looked around, slightly surprised that he hadn't been killed in the middle of the night. When he'd ducking into this hill-house yesterday, he'd half expected some sort of Gamemaker trap. But there hadn't been anything besides a kitchen and a dining room and an office and several bedrooms. It almost looked as though the inhabitant had merely stepped out for a few minutes.

He'd slept in the bed, only a little worried that someone would sneak in and kill him. Besides, if someone wanted to do that, there wouldn't be much he could have done.

He stood and stretched, glancing out the window. It looked to be about midmorning - later than he usually slept in, but that bed had been pretty comfortable.

"Might as well check out this area," he sighed. "Doesn't seem like there's much else to do here in this stupid arena." He pulled on his boots and stepped out the door, into the sunlight. There was no one in sight.

Odd. Seemed to him as though this area was a bit too small for twenty four tributes - well, eighteen now, unless someone had died overnight - to be hiding in. In fact, it was a bit _too_ silent here.

"Anyone there?" he called, a lot more softly than he would have back at home in District Nine. There was no response.

_Well, screw that._

He set off down the path, whistling, wondering if anyone would find him.

* * *

"Well. This is pretty cool," Harora mumbled to the empty air, turning in a circle and surveying her surroundings. She'd woken up falling through darkness - not the most comfortable of sensations - and had landed here, on top of a tall black tower in the middle of apparently nowhere.

And she was still alone, which was how she liked it. Even if the scenery had changed, that hadn't.

But what was that small dark speck, moving closer to her tower, far below on the green grass of the fields surrounding her tower?

"Company?" she asked no one in particular, and answered herself with a sigh. Looked like she'd have to go down and welcome them herself. She checked to make sure her knife was still in her belt - that was always pretty important - and turned towards the trapdoor leading down into the tower itself.

Something leaning against one of the spiked tower-tops caught her eye and she paused. A staff, shaped vaguely like what she imagined the tower would look like from the ground, with a white crystal set in the top.

She picked it up and almost dropped it. It was deceptively heavy, and there was something about it that seemed to make the air around it thrum, a slight vibration that traveled up through her hands, into her arms and across her chest.

_Electrified? But there's no switch or anything..._

It didn't matter. This staff would make a good weapon either way, even if her only use for it would be to stove someone's head in with the spiked end. She turned back towards the trapdoor.

_Time to deal with this newcomer._

* * *

**No deaths. But weird stuff is going on. And also hermione-of-vulcan seems to know me a bit too well, as she's already figured out my arena in its entirety. (Did I mention that already?)**

**How even, though.**

**********Tributes remaining (18 total): Jacquelyn/Kalliope/Katica/Calixe/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil, Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Alexei, Harora**

**********[some of the alliances have been broken, but more on that next chapter]**


	15. Illusion

**Day Two Part Two**

* * *

"Where am I, though?" Natho muttered, scratching his head. "Th-this doesn't look very familiar..."

He'd fallen asleep in some random hole-house-thing, and woken up here - wherever here was. And all in all, the landscape here wasn't quite as welcoming as the initial arena had been.

He was standing under a grey sky, among jagged, broken rocks and ashen dirt. There didn't seem to be anything _alive_ here, nor were there plants or anything - and the air had a somehow dingy quality, as though filled with smoke or dust. Everything was so dark and dirty, not a trace of color anywhere, as though everything had been leeched out but this dirty grey and black.

Violet pushed forward and checked that he still had his pack - which he did, thank God - and that his supplies were undamaged. His knife was also still at his belt. He loosened that in its sheath and moved into the shadow of a particularly large rock. There was no point in taking unnecessary risks. It might seem that this area was deserted, but one never knew in the Hunger Games.

_Ah, you're so smart, Violet... I'm glad I killed you, you're pretty useful._ Natho shoved her aside and leaned against the rock, pulling his dark cloak about him. At least his clothes were black, so none of this dirt would show.

The sound of voices from somewhere behind him made him jump and then cower against the stone, hand clenching reflexively around the hilt of his knife. When it became clear that said voices were not moving towards him - and were thus not going to kill him - he peeked around the rock.

* * *

"Okay. This is ridiculous." Kalliope kicked a pebble and watched it bounce away, an annoyed look on her face. "What the hell is this place?"

"It's pretty gloomy," Jacquelyn replied, shrugging. "But, y'know, it's not like we'll probably have to deal with this for much longer."

"Why's that?" the District Two girl snapped, frowning at her fellow Career.

"Easy. If they changed the arena once, then they have to do it again. Otherwise what's the point, right? So I bet that by this time tomorrow we'll be somewhere else."

"Somewhere worse, perhaps," Calixe put in, gazing off to where a line of mountains thrust jagged peaks into the ashy sky. "Though this is a rather bleak land. But maybe we'll be able to meet up with the others, if Fate wills." Neither Katica nor Raziel had appeared in this dark, rocky area when the other three did - presumably they had been swept off somewhere else.

Jacquelyn held up a hand for silence. "Did you hear that?" She turned away, black cloak swirling slightly in her wake.

"Hear what?" Kalliope brushed back her hair from her eyes. "Do you think there's someone else here?"

"Maybe." The District Four girl drew her sword with a flourish and stalked off towards a cluster of larger boulders. Calixe and Kalliope followed, pulling out their own weapons.

They rounded the corner to find it deserted. There were a few scuff marks in the dust that might have indicated that someone had been there recently - but that might have just been the wind, or a mutt.

Jacquelyn sighed, sheathing her sword. "Dammit. I thought for sure-"

"Let's keep looking around, though," Kalliope suggested. "Might be we'll find someone to kill."

* * *

Radagast strode down the paved road, glancing from side to side. There were pretty trees, and grass, and flowers - but no animals in sight, which was a shame. Animals were his best friends - had always been his only friends, until now. And since he'd gotten separated from Grimmjow and Anarion and Earendil, he was alone again... and friendless.

Not that he minded. He was a pretty chill guy. Nothing much bothered him.

"It's you."

He looked up, surprised to realize that he had reached the foot of the tower he had been walking towards all morning (he was a pretty slow walker, okay, don't judge). And descending the stairs of said large, black tower was a slim red-eyed girl with a staff in one hand.

"Oh, hey there," he said cheerfully. "I've got a staff too, Curunir. Isn't that cool?"

"What did you call me?" The girl frowned. "I am... Harora." There was the slightest hesitation before she said that, as it she had almost forgotten what her name was.

"Yes, but you're a wizard too, right?" He pulled out his own staff, waved it around. "I'm Radagast. Also known as Aiwendil. But mostly just Radagast the Brown."

"You're dead, that's what you are." And she flew at him, staff a blur. He couldn't quite block it in time. There was a sudden, sharp pain in his side and he went flying backwards, sprawling across the stone. Harora lunged forward, the sharp end of her staff hurtling towards his head, but he rolled to one side and brought his own up, landing a painful blow on her knee. She crumpled with a cry of pain, and he stood, backing away.

"I - I didn't mean to hurt you, you know?" he informed her. "But you just sorta attacked me, and - stop that!" Harora had tried to hit him again. Radagast knocked her staff from her hands.

"I know how you're going to die!" Harora spat, trying to lever herself to her feet without putting any weight on her injured knee. Her eyes blazed as she glared up at the District Eleven boy.

"I don't really care, you know?" Radagast turned away, glancing up at the sky. Something he saw there made a grin break across his face. "I hope you feel better."

"You're in the _Hunger Games_!" She gave up on trying to stand and settled back, voice dripping with disdain. "Just kill me already, it's the only thing I haven't seen yet, why shouldn't you just kill me?"

Radagast stopped in his tracks, something flickering in his brown eyes. "We came to protect and guide, not to rule," he muttered, to himself. He turned back, an open smile on his face. "What if I just don't want to kill you, huh?"

"Because if you don't I'll come and find you and kill you."

"Is that a prediction?"

"It's a promise." She surged to her feet, staff leaping into her hand. The end crashed into Radagast's chest, sending him stumbling back. Blood blossomed across the light brown of his robes and his eyes widened.

There was a sudden screech, and a blur of white and grey. Harora fell back with a scream, clutching her face, blood spurting from between her fingers. A pair of taloned claws fastened on the back of Radagast's robes and lifted him bodily off the ground, bearing him up into the sky.

"Hey, thanks, bro," the District Eleven boy said to the eagle that had so conveniently rescued him at the last minute.

* * *

Alexei had found a path.

Admittedly, it was a sort of sketchy, suspiciously dark path, and it did lead to a little gate in a bush, but there wasn't much else to do around here but follow random paths and see where they might lead.

His footsteps were oddly muffled on the brick as he wandered along, glancing back to make sure there was no one following him. So far, he hadn't seen anyone since the bloodbath. And he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The gate was old, rusted - but unlocked. Apparently the Gamemakers were fine with him venturing this way. He eased it open, wincing at the shrill screech the unoiled hinges made, and stepped through into the cool shadows beyond. Tall, moss-covered trees rose above the forest floor, blocking most of the sunlight so that which filtered through was dank and dim, somehow less than that above. Thick, tangled roots covered the ground, making the footing uneven.

He took a few steps in and heard the gate squeal shut behind him - and there was an audible click as it locked.

_Ah... that might not be a good thing..._

"Whatever," he said aloud, too aware of how flatly his words seemed to fall into the silence, how the air here seemed to swallow them up. "I'll just... keep walking, then. 'East or west all woods must fail', right?"

_Right. You just keep telling yourself that._

"Shut up," he muttered, glancing around. He bent down and picked up a particularly heavy stick, testing its weight in his hands - he hadn't been able to get a weapon at the bloodbath, so this would have to do for now.

Alexei set off in no particular direction, not sure where he was trying to get to, not really sure it mattered. As long as he kept walking, there was less of a chance that he would be trapped and killed by mutts or - worse - Careers.

At some point, the mist started to gather around him, silver and fine, creeping along the ground like waves on the beach. He didn't notice, at first - lost in his own thoughts, thinking about home and Tirre (always her, of course, what else would he think of?). And when he did finally stop, it was only to catch his breath after an unusually arduous climb up a tangled root mound.

_It's gotten awfully cold. Is it afternoon already?_ He shivered, glancing up at the canopy - not that that did any good. It was so dim under here that it might have been evening out there already, or high noon. His stomach was rumbling, but he'd been hungry all day long, so that didn't mean much either.

Something cold brushed his arm and he jumped, looking down. A tendril of mist curled past him and he batted at it with his stick, suddenly afraid. What was this? Poison, maybe? Gamemakers were fond of such things, he knew that from watching Hunger Games on the television at home. It had been a mistake to wander into these woods - there were too many places for mutts to hide, too many places for the Gamemakers to set traps.

_Alexei..._

He spun, heart thudding. Was that - had something just called his name?

_Alexei... this way..._

"T - Tirre?" _ No. She's dead - this is some Gamemaker trap, there's nothing for you to gain by following that-_

_Alexei!_ And then she stepped out of the trees, a laughing smile on her face, and her eyes a clear green that seemed to shine in the darkness.

"You're dead," he informed her, blinking furiously as though that would get rid of her. There was nothing but a wall of blank mist around him - and her, coming closer, gliding over the ground, feet barely seeming to touch the earth. "Also, you're probably just a Gamemaker illusion." He tried to pretend there wasn't a quiver in his voice. "And that's just unfair."

"Oh, really?" The eyes that had been blank white in life sparkled with amusement as she touched his cheek. "I always wondered what you looked like, Alexei."

"And?"

"You're pretty cute," she replied, grinning.

"The real Tirre would've _never_ told me I was cute." He stepped back. "Get away. You Gamemakers are as stupid as I thought you were, if you believed even for a second that I'd fall for that."

The thing that was not Tirre regarded him blankly. "Alexei? What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me again?"

He turned away, stumbling through the fog. Branches loomed up out of the gloom and he batted them away, glancing back. She was still there, keeping up with him without appearing to move at all.

"Alexei!"

"Get away!"

She snarled, suddenly appearing in front of him, driving a hand through his chest. At first there was nothing - no pain at all, only a numb sort of coldness - and then there was blood gushing bright red over his chest, spattering the dried leaves of the forest floor. He screamed, the sound echoing back off the mist-shrouded trees.

He fell forward, through her, catching himself on his hands and knees. Panting, eyes wide, he watched a thick red puddle form beneath him.

_I'm dying._

He looked up and met the cold green eyes of the Gamemaker's illusion. "Well," he managed to choke out, "I'll get to see her for real now."

There was no response. The illusion faded into the fog, into the darkness. He closed his eyes.

* * *

**18) Alexei Ryant (killed by GM): I liked him. I really did. And it's a shame that he had to die.**

**Tributes remaining (17 total): ************Jacquelyn/Kalliope/Katica/Calixe/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil, Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**


	16. Through Night and Day

**Day Two Part Three**

* * *

Thorin was still happily rooting through the mounds and piles of gold, silver, jewels, etc. that filled the cavern. He had, in fact, been at it all day. So Kile had decided to do what any sensible person would do in his place and eat some food. His stomach told him it was well past tea-time, though Thorin had some odd ideas about eating and had restricted him to a single breakfast that morning.

He was happily munching on some strawberries when Thorin hurried over, something alrge and glittery in his hands.

"What's this?"

"Tis the Nauglamir, the Dwarf-necklace of ancient legend!" Thorin proclaimed. "With the three Elf-jewels set in it, no less."

"No, it isn't." Kile crossed his arms. "It's some Gamemaker prop made of painted plastic, I bet. Besides, I thought you hated Elves?" Thought it was rather pretty - gold and jewels and such, with three large, white gems in the center that seemed to drink in the light and reflect it brighter than before, as though somehow lit from within.

Thorin launched into a rant about some Elf-King trying to take what was rightfully the property of some Dwarves, and Kile tuned him out. It had been amusingly eccentric at first, the District Twelve boy's whole King-Under-the-Mountain thing... but it did grow tiresome, hearing about made-up deeds that happened too long ago for anyone to care about even if they had been real.

There was a soft clatter of shifting treasure from further in the cave and Kile froze. "Did you hear that?"

"No."

"Well, there's something in there." Kile drew the short sword he had found. "Dammit, Thorin, I told you coming in here was a bad idea!"

"We haven't been attacked, I don't think you can start harassing me for wanting to see my homeland just yet," Thorin replied. But he, too, drew his sword and started backing away.

There was the soft, low sound of air moving - it sounded uncomfortably like breathing, and Kile didn't want to think about the _size_ of a creature that would breathe that loudly. He backed away, sweat dripping from his forehead. It was suddenly unbearably hot in the cavern, the air shimmering like it did on summer days back home, making the outlines of the piles of treasure waver.

Something burst through the cavern entrance and Kile screamed, stumbling backwards. Eyes filled with yellow fire turned towards him, unbearably bright, and a great, taloned foot crashed down, spraying gold coins everywhere.

"That's a dragon," Thorin noted, eyes wide.

"No, really?" Kile snapped, voice high and frantic. "I thought it was a cat - a really big, fluffy, friendly cat. That just wanted some love."

The District Twelve boy frowned at him. "I do not appreciate your sarcastic tone of voice."

"I don't appreciate the fact that I'm about to die!"

Thorin grabbed his arm and dragged him backwards as the dragon's foot crashed down again, mere meters from where the two of them had been standing. "Run!"

Slipping and sliding on coins and jewels, the two boys scrambled down the tunnel, into the darkness. The dragon's heat gusted after them, accompanied by savage growls and snarls. Kile noticed Thorin pocketing the necklace, but was too busy running for his life to comment.

The sounds from behind faded as they ran further down. Kile was all for running straight out of the mountain and never looking back, but Thorin yanked him by his sleeve into a crevice, panting.

"I think... we lost him."

"I think we should keep running."

Thorin gave him a withering glare that would have probably been a bit more effectual had Kile been able to see it. "The dragon can't fit down this tunnel, stupid. It's too narrow."

"And what are we going to do?" Kile's voice was high-pitched, terrified. "Its super dark down here and our packs are back in that cave and all we have are our weapons-"

"Calm down. We'll just... wait until sunrise. The arena switches, right? So we should be able to get out of here. It'll only be, like... ten hours." Which was actually kind of a long time, when you thought about it, but whatever.

"Right. Okay." Kile took a deep breath, let it out. "I should've never left District Seven..."

Thorin sighed. It was going to be a long wait.

* * *

"Well. I don't know what kind of place this is, but there's horses. And that's pretty cool."

Raziel frowned at Katica. "Right. And was there any sign of the others?"

"No." The District One girl crossed her arms. "Why don't you get off your throne and go look yourself? All you've been doing today is sitting there admiring your crown."

"Says the girl in the very inpractical long white dress."

"It's what the stylists gave me for my arena outfit! I have no idea what it's supposed to be for!"

Raziel had gotten a crown, so he wasn't complaining about his outfit. "Go find some armor or something. I'm sure there's some somewhere in this giant hall." The two Careers had landed in a sort-of palace on a hill (though the building was far inferior to anything in the Capitol, and it lacked any noticeable technology). There was also a village-type-thing below, and random herds of horses wandering the plains.

"Fine," Katica huffed. "I'll find you a sword, too, so you aren't so useless."

Raziel leaned back on his throne and watched her storm away. This wasn't so bad, really.

* * *

"I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to be here with me," Karsa mused, swinging her legs back and forth. The District Three girl was seated at the very edge of the platform, which wrapped around the golden-leafed trees, ladders extending down from it. There were myriad others of the same make and size, forming a large enough collection of dwellings to constitute a town, were it on the ground.

"What makes you say that?" Mortimer asked.

"Well, when that weird vortex-thing sucked me up, it didn't seem to be doing anything to you."

"But since I grabbed your sleeve..."

"Yeah, so you weren't doing what the arena wanted. Thus, you shouldn't be here." Karsa leaned back and watched the setting sun's light gleam off the fluttering leaves above. There was a slight breeze picking up, but she didn't think it would get too cold, even up here in this... platform thing.

"Does it bother you, that I'm here?" He didn't sound like he cared much about her opinion - his voice had the same flat, laconic tone as always.

"Not really." She'd found Mortimer to be unbearably creepy at first, of course - which was only natural, considering the fact that his parents were funeral directors and he helped them with their job (ew, dead bodies, super weird). But he wasn't _that_ bad of a person, really... and at least he wasn't trying to kill her. At the moment, at least.

"That's good, because even if you did, I wasn't planning on leaving you."

Karsa rolled over to face him, wondering if she should be disturbed or flattered by that. He gazed back at her with unreadable black eyes, the leaves above throwing shifting shadows across his face. There was no discomfort or self-consciousness there as she stared at him, only a lazily annoyed look.

"Do you need something?"

"Nah." She turned away again. "Are you on first watch or am I?"

"I don't really care. We all die anyways - what's the point of watching out for death?"

Karsa considered debating this - if you kept an eye out for death, you could avoid it, etc., etc. ... but it really wasn't worth it. "Fine. I'll watch first, then."

* * *

Night was falling, and Annelisa was alone.

Sure, it wasn't as if that was necessarily a _bad_ thing - being alone meant that there were no Careers after her with long knives and a willingness to kill. And she'd always been more comfortable alone, anyways. People had always fascinated her, but that didn't mean she liked them. At all. Animals were easier to get along with. They never talked back to you, or told your secrets, or expected things from you.

She did miss Amabel, though. The District Twelve girl had disappeared before Annelisa's very eyes, right as the sun was rising. She assumed that she hadn't died, since there had been no cannon, but the fact remained that she was gone, and Annelisa was alone again.

_Why her, and not me? Why didn't the arena sweep me off to wherever it sent her?_

The other tributes had probably also been taken, judging by the eerie emptiness of the cornucopia area. She'd taken advantage of that by raiding what little supplies the Careers had left there, all the while throwing nervous glances over her shoulder, sure that someone was sneaking up on her. There had been no one, of course, and no one after that, either, when she had made her way past dozens of hill-houses, peeking in windows, half-hoping and half-fearing that she would see someone emerge from one.

There had been a set of footprints, leading into the dark forest bordered by the fence, but even in broad daylight she had been too afraid to follow them. The cannon had boomed only a few hours ago, and she couldn't help but wonder if those footprints had belonged to whoever the hovercraft lifted out of the arena.

_Whoever they are, they're going home now._

It wasn't a comforting thought, especially considering the fact that she would most likely be leaving the arena as a body in a coffin, too.

She opened the nearest door and stepped into the entrance hall, tapping the dirt from her boots on the step through habit. Turning and locking the door using all three heavy iron deadbolts, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding all this time.

This was as good a place to spend the night as any, she supposed.

* * *

**Tributes remaining (17 total): ************Jacquelyn/Kalliope/Katica/Calixe/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil, Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**

**********Hungergameslover10210 has a SYOT called 'Writers Won't Survive: The 197th Hunger Games' that you should submit to.**

**********If you like writing you should check out this website: writinground . michaelrgoldfine . c o m My friend made it and it's really cool and yeah, go check it out.**

**********[to anyone else who asked for a promo of any sort, you'll have to remind me about it 'cause obviously I forgot]**


	17. Many Meetings

**Day Three Part One**

* * *

Unlike the day before, only Merete was waiting at the long table when Isis arrived, with her head pillowed on her arms and flame-red hair spread across the glossy wood. She stirred when Isis kicked the door open (her customary method of entering, since her hands were usually filled with books and papers), then sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"You know, being on night shift alone doesn't mean you can take a nap," Isis told the older woman. She, of course, had been up most of the night, even if she hadn't been in the control room - running an arena wasn't an easy task, even if it was her job to make it look like it was.

"Nothing _happened_, Isis. There was no reason for me to stay awake." There were deep shadows under Merete's eyes and a strained note to her voice, and had she been someone else Isis might have pitied her in her exhaustion - but she had never been the kind of person to feel sorry for others.

"Well, move aside, then." She dumped her armful of diagrams onto the table, moved towards the arena controls. "Time to wake the tributes up."

Excitement sparked in Merete's eyes, and she sat up straighter, sleepiness falling away. "Oh, yes. My favorite part."

* * *

Kile woke in a large, very unfamiliar wooden bed and was understandably surprised, as he had fallen asleep in a dank tunnel beside Thorin. His ally was nowhere to be seen. The bed was in the middle of a large, airy room paneled in golden-brown wood, with tall windows set in every wall. The light of dawn streamed through these, bars of light falling across the white bedspread.

He sat up, feeling his dirty clothes rasp against his equally filthy skin. It had been three days since he bathed (and one of those days had been spent huddled on the floor of a pitch-dark cave) and he didn't want to imagine how terrible he looked.

"Ah, you're awake." A boy dressed all in brown rose from a stool in the corner. Kile (who had obviously failed to notice his companion) shrieked and fell backwards off the bed.

"Please don't kill me," he gasped, curling up into a ball on the floor and covering his head with his hands.

"Huh?" The boy's head popped over the edge of the bed. "Why would I do that? C'mon, get up. It's not healthy for you to be so nervous all the time. You're jumpier than Yavanna."

Kile peeked cautiously between his fingers. "...Yavanna?"

"My pet rabbit, of course. One of... fourteen." The boy smiled. "I'm Radagast, by the way."

Kile relaxed slightly, since clearly anyone who had pet rabbits was a trustworthy person. "Um. I'm Kile. Nice to meet you." He realized that he was still sprawled on the floor and hurriedly scrambled to his feet, offering Radagast his hand to hide his embarrassment. The taller boy regarded the proffered hand as though unsure what it was for, then shook it. His grip was surprisingly strong.

"Pleasure to meet you. Shall we see if there are other people here?" Radagast suggested. "I seem to have been separated from my alliance. This arena-changing thing is pretty annoying, isn't it?"

Annoying wasn't quite the word Kile would have chosen - worrisome, more like, or maybe dangerous. He supposed he could see what the Gamemakers were trying to do here - if they split up all the alliances on a daily basis and threw tributes into random encounters, there was a higher potential for drama. The fact that he and Radagast hadn't immediately tried to kill each other was probably quite disappointing for everyone except the two of them, and he should be glad that he had gotten paired with the eccentric District Eleven boy and not, say, a Career.

Still, there was the fact that had he met the possibly insane Radagast back in District Seven, there would have been no chance whatsoever that he would be caught socializing with him - respectable Bagons of District Seven simply did _not_ spend time in such company.

Then again, he was in the Hunger Games now. It was hardly as though normal societal conventions held anymore.

"Okay," he said, offering Radagast a nervous smile.

* * *

"'Scuse me, but I think you're in my seat."

"Oh yeah? And what on earth gave you the impression that this was yours? I believe I got here first."

"Regardless. I am king, and therefore the throne should be mine."

"Does this even count as a throne? Back in my kingdom - before that little dragon incident - this would've been hardly grand enough for a dinner chair."

Anarion groaned, burying his face in his hands. "You guys. You're fighting over a _chair_."

Thorin and Grimmjow turned towards the District Ten boy, eyes flashing in near-unison. "Yes. We are," Thorin agreed evenly. "Or rather, your ally is _losing a fight_ over a chair."

"I hardly think-"

"Well, that's not a surprise."

"You dare insult the king?" Grimmjow laid a hand on the hilt of his sword, brows furrowing.

"You are no king."

"You will lose your head for that insolence, vassal."

"And who will you have behead me, hm? Your boyfriend over there? You, certainly, lack the strength to perform the task adequately."

"I'm _not_ his boyfriend," Anarion snapped, standing and drawing his sword. "Dammit, Earendil, come over here and help me get them to shut up!"

The blond boy turned from the window he had been gazing out of. "Why would I bother with mortals such as you? I have far greater concerns."

It was a sad day when Anarion Elendili, murderer of his older brother and spontaneous volunteer, was the sanest one in the room.

The wide wooden door at the other end of the room slammed open and he tensed, ready for an army of mutts (or maybe a few Careers) to pour into the room, but it was only a tall boy in ragged brown robes.

_...and this isn't going to help the level of normalcy in the room at all._ Anarion sighed and sheathed his sword. At this point, he would almost welcome an attack - anything to get his allies to stop being so illogical.

"Radagast!" Grimmjow said, perking up visibly at the sight of his ally. "Come over here and use your wizardly powers to get this idiot off my seat."

"The power of an Istari should not be used so lightly, for such trivial things," Radagast replied serenely, leaning on his staff and surveying the room. "I found us another companion."

A much shorter boy with sandy brown hair poked his head out from behind him. "Ah. Yes. Hello. Kile Bagons of District Seven, at your service." He gave them a little bob of his head.

"Kile!" Thorin frowned. "I thought you died."

"...unfortunately, no. I am quite alive. I see you found someone else to argue with."

"You won't believe the nerve of this young upstart. The arena dropped me here, in this _rather nice_ council room (or whatever it is) and _of course_ I naturally chose to sit in the chair that was clearly reserved for the leader of whatever group intended to gather here. And then up comes this blue-haired imbecile and demands that I surrender my rightful spot to him!"_  
_

"...great." Kile looked just as resigned to his ally's insanity as Anarion was with his.

"So I guess we're all allies now?" Radagast said cheerfully, looking to Grimmjow for confirmation.

Earendil turned from his window spot. "I won't ally with a dwarf like him."

"I won't ally with someone who won't acknowledge my right to kingship," Grimmjow added with a haughty tilt of his chin.

"Great!" Radagast grinned at Thorin. "I guess you're part of our alliance, then."

"...what?" Kile shook his head, looking beseechingly at the only other person in the room who seemed even halfway normal. "I don't - I just want to go back to District Seven, I don't want to be in an adventure-"

Anarion smiled wearily at him. "I think you and I will get along just fine, then."

* * *

"So here we are. Clearly Fate has decreed that we should be here today. The only question is - why?"

Kalliope shot a disparaging glance at Calixe. "It's not Fate that put us here, it was the Gamemakers. Though the question is still legitimate - they must have a purpose."

"To have us kill people, of course." Jacquelyn had already shouldered her pack and was setting off down the hill.

"Where are you going?" Kalliope hurried after her, Calixe drifted along behind her. "Weren't you going to ask us what we wanted to do?" Damn Jacquelyn and her tendency to make unilateral decisions - sure, a Career pack leader was supposed to _lead_, but they weren't supposed to run off without explaining anything - or at least proving that they had some sort of plan.

Jacquelyn glanced back, an honestly confused look in her brown eyes. "Why should I have ask the crew for anything? When the captain makes a decision, she expects that it will be followed without question."

_This isn't a ship, you're not a goddamned pirate queen no matter how much you think you are, and one of these days I'm going to snap your arrogant little neck -_ Kalliope bit back her sharper response and settled for a sweetly sarcastic smile. "Oh, of course, _captain_. Would you mind terribly explaining to us poor little crewmembers what your plan is, then?"

"You're not my crew, really," Jacquelyn said carelessly. "I trust my crew, and you're just waiting for an opportunity to stab me in the back. You're more like... mercenaries, really. But you're still obligated to follow my orders."

_We'll__ see how _obligated_ I am when my knife is buried in your heart._ "Oh, of course. But what are those orders, pray tell?" The smile on her face was actually starting to hurt.

The District Four girl pointed to a nearby hill. "There. See it?"

Kalliope squinted, and was just able to make out a pale blur. "What is that?"

"Looks like a house," Calixe said, cupping his hands about his eyes to shield them from the sun. "A really big, nice house."

"Stands to reason that if the Gamemakers dumped us here, they had a reason to, right? I bet there are some tributes in there." Jacquelyn drew her knife and started flipping it across her fingers, the steel flashing in the sunlight. "And if there are tributes there, it's our _duty_ as Careers to go hunt them down."

Calixe nodded. "Fate has spoken. We must attack."

"This is something I could support." Kalliope drew her own sword. "A hunt it is, then."

* * *

**Tributes remaining (17 total): Jacquelyn/Kalliope/Calixe, Katica/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**


	18. Those Who Wander

**Day Three Part Two**

* * *

To an outside observer, Natho might have seemed like a normal enough tribute. He was certainly doing all the things a normal tribute would do - running away from Careers, searching out good hiding spots, surveying the land. What the cameras could never catch, however, was the struggle _within_ him, inside his very head - and made no less violent by the fact that it was an invisible battle.

For the past day or so, both in the bleak land he had wandered on the second day and this more verdant, forested land, he had not been the one in control of his own actions. Sure, he had been _trying_ to regain control - of course he had, who wouldn't? - but years and years with the complacent presences of his dead sister and her boyfriend in his head had left him without the mental strength to throw off an attack that came in earnest, from a girl with a mind far sharper and stronger than his had ever been.

_It was a mistake to pick her, she was too smart-_

Again, he tried to surge forward, and he felt the vibration in his own chest as Violet laughed, tossing him aside with ease.

_Damn you!_ he raged, knowing it was useless, hating the fact that he was trapped inside his own body, powerless, forced to watch through his own eyes as someone else moved him.

Jevi and Devian had retreated into the farthest corners of the shared mind, perhaps pushed there by his presence in the more forward-part of the back of his own mind (if there could be physical distinctions between areas of a place made of pure consciousness - he had never been too clear on this, had never even known how it worked, and he supposed he should be glad that Violet's usurping of his mind had not driven him out entirely).

Violet paused by a tree, squinting up at it, and he tried to take advantage of her momentary distraction and try to push her out. She shook her (_his_, it was still his even if she was the one moving it) head ever so slightly - to the cameras, she might have been trying to dispel an insect. Certainly there was nothing audible about Natho's enraged screams.

He watched as she grabbed a lower branch and swung up onto it, booted feet scrabbling for a hold, scraping her (his) palms on the rough bark. A few more seconds, and they were standing on the branch, with a fairly good view of the surrounding country.

The forest they were in was fenced by a ravine, sheer cliffs of stark grey stone rising above the green leaves. Farther off, sunlight sparkled on a waterfall that was nothing more than a trickle down the rock face from this far away. On a hill close to the falling water was a light, airy house, built all of light wood and pale stone, graceful arches and fluted columns rising from the gardens that surrounded it. It didn't look quite _real_, up there on that hill as though it had always been there, as though it had _grown_ there, yet there was something about it that seemed almost welcoming, even from so far away.

Violet shaded her (his) eyes with one hand and peered at a balcony on the southern end of the house. There was movement there, perhaps - unless it was only a trick of the light and the distance. The movement further down the hill was more unmistakable. Three black-clad shapes, moving slowly but surely towards the halls on the hill. From here, they were small as ants, but Natho knew just as well as Violet who they had to be - the Careers he had been lurking near yesterday. Jacquelyn, Calixe, and Kalliope.

"This should be interesting."

Natho snarled - or would have, had he been fully in control of his body. _Interesting, sure, as long as they don't find us here. And as long as we don't get any closer._

Violet tossed her head as though to flip hair that was no longer of sufficient length to do so. "You know, I think I'll get a bit closer, just to see what's going on." Her careless tone might fool the cameras into thinking she was talking to herself (a harmless pastime, and only to be expected from a tribute that was all alone in a big scary arena), but the comment was most definitely meant for Natho.

_I'll get you,_ he told her as she swung down from the branch. _You can't guard your mind forever - one of these days, you'll slip, and I'll be waiting._

* * *

"Did you hear something?" Anarion turned away from the window, frowning. "'Cause I could've sworn..."

Thorin and Grimmjow continued to bicker. Radagast was off talking to a sparrow that had decided to alight on the back of one of the council chairs. No one, in short, seemed willing to notice anything - except perhaps Kile.

"Hear what?" Kile peered over the windowsill. "I can't hear-"

Anarion gestured impatiently for silence. "There! You hear?" At Kile's blank look, he sighed. "Voices. Or something like that."

The District Seven boy nodded slowly. "You think it's dangerous?"

"Could be, depending on who it is. But that's obvious, isn't it?" He started towards where Grimmjow was currently gesturing wildly at Thorin, then apparently thought better of it. "Maybe we should go see what it was. Hey, Earendil-"

He turned to where the blond District Eleven boy had been only moments before and found that Earendil was nowhere to be seen.

"...where'd he go?"

* * *

"Do you suppose they saw us?" Kalliope whispered, glancing up at the balcony above. Voices drifted down, too indistinct to make out individual words - but judging from the lack of panicked shouts, Jacquelyn would have to say no, they had not been sighted.

"Fate is on our side," Calixe pronounced serenely. "They will not see us."

"Great. _Fate_ is on our side." Kalliope rolled her eyes. "I'm so comforted by that, Calixe. We're sure to win now."

Jacquelyn turned around, narrowing her eyes at her allies. "I would appreciate it if you two did not bicker. Do I need to make that an order?"

Calixe shook his head, blue eyes serious. Kalliope looked a little more reluctant, but shrugged. "Fine."

"Good. Kalliope, I want you to go around that way and look for an entrance. I'll go the other way and we can meet up in the middle. Calixe, wait here. We'll regroup here and figure out the best way to attack. Take your time, be careful - they don't know we're here yet, and there's no sense in letting them see us." She almost drew her sword, then decided against it - with the sun so high in the sky, and there was no point in risking a chance gleam alerting their prey to the fact that they were being hunted. Besides, she was a lightning-quick draw.

Kalliope made a noise halfway between a gurgle and a whimper. Jacquelyn whirled to find the District Two girl staring at her, violet eyes wide and face pale - and the black fletching of an arrow protruding from her throat.

_What...?_

She watched numbly as her ally lifted trembling fingers to the arrow, bright trickles of blood staining her skin and soaking into the collar of her black shirt. Kalliope looked more confused than anything else as she wrapped her hand around the arrow and tugged it out, the arrowhead catching in her skin and tearing free with an audible noise. A spray of blood followed the arrow, and she staggered backwards, tripping over a tree root and falling onto her back, blood pouring in diminishing spurts from the wound, splattering the ground and her face and her hands with crimson._  
_

Jacquelyn's sword lept into her hand and she spun, searching the trees above for signs of Kalliope's attacker as her ally thrashed in the dust, movements weakening, a strangled keening issuing from her mangled throat. The arrow had definitely come from above - and if they had shot from above, they were most likely alone, though that didn't rule out a possible alliance waiting further away.

A twang from above made her jump aside. A second arrow thudded into the ground, quivering in the dirt mere inches from her left foot. She whirled, pointing her blade at the shivering leaves above. "Show yourself!" she called, hoping that, whoever they were, they were foolish enough to follow this directive.

_They could kill me, right here - I can't dodge arrows forever, and they have the advantage with a bow. _Running away, of course, never occurred to her.

There was a rustle, and a blond boy stepped out onto the branch, bow held loosely in one hand, a quiver of arrows on his back. "Hello," he said. A cannon rumbled in the distance - Kalliope was dead, then.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Calixe step silently into the shadows, and suppressed a smile - he knew what he had to do, and she could trust him to not fail. Her job, then, was to keep this boy's attention on her.

"You're District Nine, right?" She smiled at him. "Why don't you come down here and fight honorably, hm? I give you my word as captain that I won't hurt you until you're all the way down."

"I'm hardly that stupid." He gave her a cold smile, reaching over his shoulder and sliding an arrow from his quiver. "Why would I go down there when I can stay up here and shoot you at my leisure?" He notched the arrow to the string and pulled back almost lazily, taking his time, sighting along the arrow at her. The tree next to him shook slightly, but he didn't seem to notice.

She sighed. "Well, I guess I'll just have to kill you from down here, then."

"Oh? And how will you manage that?"

"Quite easily, actually."

On the branch behind Nine, a booted foot appeared, then another. The tree shook, and Nine turned, eyes widening at the sight of Calixe standing behind him. Jacquelyn's hands flashed to the sheathed knives at her waist and a silver streak shot through the air, parting Nine's bowstring with a musical twang. Calixe lunged, sword extended, and Nine - laughed.

"Can't catch me!" He vaulted backwards - _backwards_ - off the branch, landing lightly on a lower one. Calixe cursed and cast about for a safer method of descent as Jacquelyn loosed another knife. Nine flipped out of the way and disappeared with a rustle of leaves and a mocking laugh.

"Come back here, dammit!" Calixe roared. "Fate has decreed that you shall die!" His foot slipped and he just barely caught himself, sword slipping from his grip and tumbling to the ground below. There might have been a distant laugh in response to that - but then again, it might have been the wind.

"Come down," Jacquelyn sighed. "There's no point."

He frowned, leaning on the tree trunk as he groped for a foothold. "You mean you don't want to go after him?"

"A good captain knows when she needs to withdraw and reconsider her strategy. Clearly he has the advantage in the forest. So we find another way to attack - and make no mistake, he will die." Not because she was particularly offended by his easy escape (it was actually quite admirable, and he seemed like a worthy opponent), and not because she had some sort of desire to avenge Kalliope's death (the District Two girl had been, to be blunt, rather useless, and a whining brat besides). No - every captain knew that losing was a sign of weakness, and weakness was death to your image, and image could be everything in the eyes of your crew.

Calixe landed on the forest floor with a thud and bent to retrieve his sword, shaking stray leaves from his hair. "Now what, captain?"

"We'd better get out of here so the hovercraft can take care of that," she said, indicating Kalliope's body with a jerk of her head. And good riddance to such rubbish, too. She and Calixe would work better together - captain and first mate. Perhaps there could even be trust.

_And then he will die. He must, for me to be victorious._

* * *

The halls of the white city were silent in a way that rivaled anything Amabel had ever heard (or not-heard) before. Nothing moved - even the tree in the courtyard was bone-white and still, boughs bare of any leaves that might have rustled in a breeze that wasn't blowing, anyway. There was no birdsong, no insect noises, and no wind whistling about the cold stone battlements. The silence was so profound that Amabel could almost _feel_ it, as though it were something physical pressing in on her, penning her in. She had the distinct feeling that even if she tried to make a sound, it would be swallowed up immediately.

_If death had a sound, it would be this._

She crossed the courtyard, resolutely not looking at the dead tree by the still fountain - something about it unnerved her, even though she told herself it was stupid to be afraid of a _tree _(but could trees be that white, and could their branches curve up to the sky like the claws of tortured animals, could they smell of death as this one did?). There was a set of double doors set in the smooth white wall, and yesterday neither she nor Anarion had dared to pass them - there was something threatening about them.

For that matter, where _was _Anarion? He'd been dumped here yesterday, same as her, but she had woken this morning to find herself right where she'd fallen asleep, and him gone. Either he had run off in the middle of the night, or the arena shift had picked him up and dropped him somewhere else. She thought the latter option more likely. Anarion hadn't seemed like the type that would disappear without explanation.

_Then again, what do you know of him? He's a stranger, everyone here is. And everyone - _everything_ - here is trying to kill you. So don't let down your guard._

"Yeah, no kidding," she muttered, more to break the quiet than anything else. The words fell flatly into the still air, and she had to suppress a sudden shudder. The walls around her seemed to loom higher, soundlessly cutting off the sky above, and Amabel clenched her fists, stepping forward until her nose was inches from the glossy wood of the door.

"Fuck _off_!" she spat, and kicked the doors open.

They slammed open and she jumped a bit at the rumbling thud. Barely hesitating on the threshold, she strode into the long hall revealed there, boots making sharp little noises on the black and white tiles and sending satisfying echos off the tall walls and columns. Statues stared down at her from niches between the pillars, faces carved of white stone, crowns on high brows and stern looks in their marble eyes. She paused in front of one that struck her as particularly harsh and flipped it off, wondering if there was a camera or something hidden in it.

At the far end of the hall was a tall throne on a dais. Beside it was a smaller chair, set several steps down and considerably less grand than the throne itself. There was something about the whole setup that seemed to suggest a _waiting_, as though the throne was expecting someone.

"It's not a bad chair," she said aloud, folding her arms. The statues behind her did not answer. She ascended the steps, still staring down at the throne - it didn't seem to have ever been sat in, though there was no dust anywhere, no sign of the passage of time.

_It could be a Gamemaker trap. I might sit on it and a poisoned spike could pop out - or a cage full of mutts will drop from the ceiling._

Then again, it could just be a chair.

"Oh, screw it." She spun around and plopped into the throne.

Nothing happened. Amabel tried to make her sigh of relief a bit less obvious.

"Could use a few cushions," she noted, shifting position a bit. "Not the most comfortable - hey..." Something on the floor caught her eye. She stood, frowning. _That wasn't there before... was it?_

On the floor beside the smaller chair was a ball made of what seemed to be glass, a little less than a foot in diameter. Something like smoke seemed to be swirling inside it, and a soft glow surrounded it. She drew closer, eyes wide, a thought tickling the back of her mind like a whisper in her ear - _pick it up, look and see, can't be any harm in that, can there?_

"Could be a bomb," she muttered as her hands reached almost of their own accord for the ball. "It's probably dangerous-"

_But what has your life been, here, but one danger after another? And there can be no danger, surely, in just a _look...

Her fingers brushed the smooth surface of the ball and she jerked them back, because it was so much colder than she had expected. But it didn't explode, and her hand hadn't been fried off or anything. She bent over it, hair falling in her face, hands hovering about a centimeter from the ball, and the smoke within seemed to part, swirling away from the center. Fascinated, she peered closer.

A light-haired boy about an inch high made his way up a hill towards some sort of building. She recognized him as the District Eleven boy - Ethan, or Eren, or something like that. Farther down the hill, two figures clad in black retreated back through the forest.

_Is this...?_

A black, whirring shape appeared in the corner of the ball and descended on the forest. It reappeared moments later, bearing the body of the District Two girl. She had thought she'd heard a cannon earlier, but hadn't been sure - and now she knew.

"Well, this could be useful," Amabel muttered, hunching over the glass sphere, a smile spreading across her face.

* * *

**17) Kalliope Winters (killed by Earendil): For those of you who were having trouble remembering the difference between her and Katica: Katica is the one that's still alive.**

**Tributes remaining (16 total): Jacquelyn/Calixe, Katica/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**


	19. Doomed to Die

**Day Three Part Three**

* * *

The good thing about being alone, Annelisa had decided, was that she could follow people unnoticed. She did miss Amabel (just a bit, perhaps), and the District Twelve girl hadn't been a bad ally - but she hadn't been the quietest walker, either. And in a forest like this, with leaves to crunch under feet and twigs to snap, where any careless step could betray her presence - no, it was much better that she was a lone here, and Amabel was elsewhere.

As far as she could tell, the group she followed had no idea she was shadowing them, which either served as a testament to her sneaking ability or proof that those she was following were paying absolutely no attention to their surroundings. She rather suspected the latter.

The boy all in brown was closest to her, lingering and brushing against every plant he passed, sometimes lifting his face to the sky, mouth moving soundlessly, shaping syllables that could not be human. She thought she could see a tiny brown shape fluttering behind him, about the right size for a sparrow.

Her District partner, Anarion, was walking beside the boy from Seven, having what could almost be a civil conversation. Remembering the few interactions they had had, Annelisa wondered at the change - she recalled many sullen silences, and annoyed glances, and unexplained outbursts of rage. She had always considered herself fairly good at reading other people, but even she had no idea what was going on inside Anarion's head.

In fact, this alliance of six seemed entirely comprised of tributes she considered either incredibly strange or borderline insane.

Closer to the front of the line (that was the other thing - they weren't traveling in one big group, not like you'd expect - more of a spaced-out line) she could see Amabel's District partner arguing with the boy from One. And way out in the distance, so far along the path that he was almost lost from sight, Earendil from District Nine was scouting ahead, bow slung across his back and wind ruffling his blond hair.

Annelisa had caught the tail end of his little performance earlier that day, and was glad that he was as far away as possible from her - anyone that could casually put an arrow through the throat of a Career was someone she'd rather stay well away from. Not to mention the fact that, out of his alliance, he seemed to have the sharpest eyes and ears.

Between him and Grimmjow (who at least had the training typical of a Career, if not the alliance), this group was surprisingly well-protected.

Which, of course, led her to question her own decision - namely, why she was following this group in the first place.

There were some clear benefits, among them the fact that the Careers were less likely to attack a larger group like this, and even if they did that would give her enough of a warning to escape the area. She could also probably steal food from them - they certainly had enough of it.

She supposed that a part of her also hoped that, in following a larger group, she'd have a higher chance of running into Amabel again. But that just wasn't good _strategy_, and if she wanted to stay alive she'd probably better put that particular idea out of her head, and fast.

The bottom lines was that it was very amusing to watch this group bicker amongst itself. She had no idea how it had managed to stay together so far (especially with the District One and Twelve boys arguing all the time), but she did know one thing: watching it fall apart would be even more entertaining.

* * *

Mortimer seemed to like sleeping more that he valued his survival, judging by the number of times Karsa had found her ally asleep on tree branches and nestled between roots just today. He had no concern for the possible threat of mutts (or Careers), and didn't seem particularly worried that he would fall out of the trees which he wedged himself into before nodding off.

"We're all going to die anyways, so why do you care?" he had asked her the first time she shook him awake, an admonishment on her lips - _you're going to get yourself killed sleeping like that, don't you think about _safety_ sometimes? -_ and she hadn't really been able to come up with any kind of satisfactory answer.

She would never _say_ that Mortimer was almost the same as Dante, the little brother she had been hours away from escaping District Three with (before the Reaping, before her name had been called - but they could still run away if she could get out of this alive, and that was all that kept her going). Dante had never listened to her, either, and even though she was usually the one taking more risks, cutting the barbed wire fence and distracting the Peacekeepers, he had never been afraid of anything.

(She would never _say _it, but she could _think _it, and then pretend she hadn't.)

So she let him sleep, now, with the condition that he at least do so on a sturdier tree branch than the one she'd caught him napping on that first time.

Meanwhile, she had to find some way to keep herself occupied. So she did exactly what she would have done if these were normal woods, and there were no Capitol cameras or mutts or other tributes trying to kill her, and climbed the tallest tree, all the way to the branches near the top that bent under her weight. And there among the rustling golden leaves, where she could see the entire forest that surrounded her, and the river that gleamed between the trunks, and the mountains in the distance - here, there was something almost like peace.

_Maybe he's got the right idea,_ she mused, peering down at where she could see Mortimer, asleep in the V formed by two large branches. _If we're all doomed anyways..._

* * *

"It's getting dark."

Raziel continued pushing through the underbrush, refusing to turn towards his ally. "Yeah?"

"So shouldn't we stop? I'm tired." Katica sounded more petulant than exhausted, really.

"And you call yourself a Career?"

"Fine. You wanna play that card? You want me to be a goddamn Career? How about this - we're walking though the forest at dusk. Everyone knows that's really dangerous. There could be mutts, there could be other tributes-"

"Other tributes that don't frighten us, since we're Careers."

"I don't know if you _noticed_ this, Raziel, but there's only two of us. A bigger alliance should frighten us, or have you forgotten all your training? Most of the Career pack's power is strength in numbers, especially when we're on the defensive."

Raziel paused now, but still kept his back to Katica. "Which is why we're currently fighting our way through the trees surrounding this giant black _tower _that we saw the District Nine girl go into an hour ago," he spat back, voice tight. "This is called taking the offensive, Katica, if you _remember your training_." The words were harsh, mocking, and even in the dim light the flush across Katica's cheeks was obvious.

"We should've stayed in that house-thing," she replied stubbornly, crossing her arms and planting her feet. "And I am not moving another inch tonight, Raziel. If Nine really did go in there, she'll be there in the morning. We can attack her then."

Anger flashed across Raziel's face and he clenched his hand around the hilt of his sword. "Are you questioning my orders?"

"You're not the leader! Jacquelyn is!"

"I don't see her anywhere near here, do you?"

"That's not the point!"

Raziel opened his mouth, then realized exactly how loud they were being. The trees around them were eerily quiet, and their raised voices were echoing unnaturally in the still air. He thought he caught a glimpse of something like candlelight from the top of the dark tower they were making their way towards, but he couldn't be sure.

"Fine." He loosened his grip on his sword, glaring at Katica. "We'll rest here for the night. And tomorrow, we attack."

The smug look on her face made him want to draw his sword and slit her throat.

_All in good time. We need to work together... for now._

_But the first chance I get, she's dead._

* * *

**Tributes remaining (16 total): Jacquelyn/Calixe, Katica/Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**


	20. Best Laid Plans

**Day Four Part One**

* * *

A distant rumble jolted Karsa from sleep and into the grey pre-dawn light. She sat up, sleeping bag falling from her as she rubbed her eyes, disoriented.

_What-?_

It came again, a noise that was strangely familiar, and she thought of the rumble-thud of the stamping machine in the factory where her father worked. She and Dante had tagged along on one of those take-your-kid-to-work days (odd, for a factory to let kids near such dangerous machinery, but she'd been too excited - not to mention too _young -_ to care), and their father had warned them not to get too close, that you could find yourself short a finger or a hand or a whole arm if you weren't careful. She had watched, mesmerized, as the heavy metal block traveled laboriously up and came crashing down with a boom that she could _feel_ as well as hear, vibrating up her feet, making her teeth clack together. But that was the sound of a faraway home, and this was not home-

The ground shook, throwing her out onto the leaf-strewn grass, and she yelped, suddenly fully awake.

_Mortimer - where's Mortimer?_

She tried to stand and was thrown sideways into a tree, her hip catching painfully on a broken branch. The tremors were coming steadily now, and trying to walk was like trying to balance on a tree branch in a windstorm (nearly impossible, that was).

"Karsa." Mortimer dropped down from a tree nearby, stumbling when he hit the ground but otherwise keeping his balance. There was a distinctly untroubled look in his dark eyes as he offered his hand to her. "Hold on."

"Why?"

"I thought you mentioned something about not wanting to be separated?" He raised an eyebrow, withdrawing his hand slightly. "But I don't care."

"Of course you don't." Karsa turned, searching for her backpack, which she had left leaning against a nearby tree. She lunged for it, snagged a strap, and turned back to her ally as a swirling vortex began to open behind him.

"You may want to hurry," he noted, stifling a yawn, somehow still standing as the earth danced beneath his feet. The trees around them groaned as they swayed back and forth. Karsa managed to gain her feet and stumble towards Mortimer, golden leaves sucked from the branches above swirling about her, blinding her. She threw herself at where she was mostly sure Mortimer was and felt his hand close around her wrist, yanking her off her feet.

They fell into darkness, hitting rough stone in a jumble of limbs and backpacks. Karsa found herself half on top of Mortimer and scrambled back, blushing and instantly glad it was too dark for him to see her. Her hands met damp stone under her and around her, but she couldn't see anything at all.

There was a soft scraping noise and a flare of light. Mortimer held a match up, and in the tiny circle of light she could see his face, smudged and calm, a trickle of blood from his split lip making its way down his chin.

"Where are we?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, cautiously rising to her knees. The match flickered out and she smelled sulfur as Mortimer struck another one, this time holding it up higher and clambering to his feet. In the dim light, she could just make out to space they were in - a tall-ceilinged chamber with an arched doorway dominating one wall, leading off into pitch blackness. Scattered across the floor were heaps of tattered cloth and something smooth and white.

"Bones," Mortimer noted dryly, telling Karsa what she had already figured out on her own. "Old ones, at that." The flame reached his fingers and he dropped the match. It faded before it hit to stone floor, and Karsa tasted the smoke at the back of her throat as she swallowed, suddenly afraid.

_No, not afraid - there's nothing frightening about a few piles of old cloth and some... bones. Nothing at all._ Besides, they probably wouldn't be here long - the arena switched daily, after all.

_It left you in the woods for two whole days. Do you really want to spend two days - or even one - in a dark cave with only Mortician Boy and some skeletons for company?_

Mortimer sat back down beside her, slowly. She heard his soft exhale and worked some spit back into her suddenly dry mouth.

"Mortimer?"

"Yes?"

"I left my sleeping bag in the forest."

* * *

By daylight, the black tower was even more imposing. It rose in an unbroken spire of unnaturally smooth stone to several sharp peaks at the distant top, stark against the cloudless sky. A series of paths radiated from the base, like the spokes of a wheel, and between these paths were well-tended forests of tall, stately trees. Raziel half-expected cheerfully chirping birds or the like, but there was only silence.

"We're attacking _that_, huh?" Katica's voice was calm, and he was thankful that she at least had the sense to not let her worry show. The cameras were almost certainly on them after his pronounced plans last night, and it would never to do show doubt in front of an audience of potential sponsors.

"Of course." He hefted his sword. "You ready?"

She nodded, knuckles whitening on the haft of her spear. "Let's do this."

He briefly considered reassuring her - _it's just one girl, probably, and even if there are more we can beat them - we're Careers, after all _- but not only were there the cameras to think of (always), but he knew as well as she did that it was not the District Nine girl that was setting them on edge.

_It's the tower. It's that goddamned tower._

The way it thrust up from the surrounding forest, slashing through the treeline. The way it bore an unsettling resemblance to a giant fang, as though part of some vast beast that lay in wait. And there was a feeling of power in the air, a hum just out of hearing range that made Raziel's skin prickle and the hair on the back of his neck rise.

They drew level with the steps leading up to the tower and he gestured with his sword. "You go left, I'll go-"

The door at the base of the tower slammed open and a dark-haired girl stepped out.

"Hello," Harora said, meeting Raziel's gaze long enough for him to notice that her eyes were red. "I know how you're going to die."

He stared at her, mouth half-open. "Um." _No. Wrong answer. The cameras are watching-_

"Don't you want to know?" Harora tilted her hear to one side, bird-like.

"Nah," he replied, forcing a careless grin. "I'm not particularly worried about hearing that, since it'll probably be me, at the age of ninety, in a bed in Victor's Village. You, on the other hand, might want to start worrying about your own death." There. Good enough. He'd never been into long speeches anyways - leave the showy theatrics to Jacquelyn.

"What about you?" Harora pointed to Katica, who was eyeing the rather lethal looking staff that the District Nine girl held in her other hand. "It's a rather pressing concern, for you."

Raziel started to edge sideways, looking to cut off Harora's escape path. She didn't seem to notice him.

"Wh-what's that supposed to mean?" Katica asked.

Harora smiled. "Accidents happen, and even the best laid plans can go astray."

Raziel swept his sword down and Harora's staff lept to counter it, bringing it to a shivering halt inches from her shoulder. There was a blaze of light, and the hilt was suddenly too hot to hold. He dropped it with a yelp and stared in disbelief at his blistered palm.

_Impossible_.

Katica lunged, spear leveled at Harora's heart, and the District Nine girl stepped out of the way almost casually.

"I'm sorry," Harora told her, shrugging. "You don't have much time left."

"What, are you gonna hit me over the head with that stupid _stick_ you've got?" Katica snarled. "I'd like to see you _try_!"

Raziel drew a short knife and squinted down its length at Harora. If she'd just stay still-

"I won't be the one to kill you."

A flick of his wrist sent the knife speeding through the air, a blur of silver aimed right at the back of Harora's neck.

_I've got her now-_

Harora ducked, the knife missing her head by barely an inch. Her opponent did not have time to move out of the way. The knife thudded into Katica's chest, parting her shirt with sickening ease, a spurt of blood staining the fabric. She wavered, eyes wide, staring at the weapon protruding from her for a few long seconds before falling to her knees.

"I told you so," Harora noted, straightening up and turning away. She darted back up the steps, towards the open door leading into the tower. Raziel fumbled for another knife and hurled it at her as he followed, taking the steps two at a time. This time the blade caught the side of Harora's left arm, drawing blood in a spray of red.

The door slammed shut just before Raziel reached it. He grabbed the handle and yanked - locked. He hurled himself at the door itself, battering at the wood with his fists, but there was no answer.

"I'll get you!" he yelled, puncutating each word with a kick to the door. "You're dead, Nine!"

A cannon sounded and he turned to see Katica's body being lifted into the sky by a silver hovercraft.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, the sound curling up to the slate grey sky above, lonely and menacing. Another joined it, this one closer.

"I don't like the sound of that," Thorin muttered, fingering his axe. "Yo, blondie, wanna finish scouting the lay of the land so we can get a move on?"

Earendil shot the District Twelve boy a scathing glance from his perch on an overhead branch. "I didn't hear you volunteering to climb up here and look ahead."

"Probably 'cause I'm not the one that's part squirrel."

Earendil lept down, dislodging a flurry of leaves onto the shorter boy's head. "Looks all clear," he informed Grimmjow, ignoring Thorin's outraged snarls. "Those wolves, though-"

There was another howl, even closer. Kile shuddered, then felt an arm encircle his shoulders. He looked up, surprised.

"No need to worry, kid," Anarion said, giving him a reassuring smile. "I won't let the wolves anywhere near you."

"Can you understand them, Radagast?" Grimmjow had his sword out, but didn't look very worried. Kile felt Anarion shift slightly, and could almost hear the District Ten boy - _you don't really think he can talk to animals, do you? _He had to admit that he had the same doubts, even if everyone else in the alliance seemed to just accept it.

"They've seen us," Radagast replied, fingers tightening on his worn brown staff. "More are on their way. They want to cut off our escape into the mountains-"

"Escape? Where do they think we're going?" Earendil asked.

"There are... caves, eastwards. Or a passage. Something underground, anyways." Radagast's brow furrowed with concentration as another howl rose behind him. "There's a door-"

"Let's go, then," Thorin interrupted, and for once Kile was inclined to agree with him - the sooner they were away from the animals behind those howls, the better.

They set off at a steady jog through the thinning forest, feet throwing up little puffs of dust. Within a few minutes, Kile was breathing heavily - but there were always the howls behind them to urge on his aching legs.

"Just a bit further," Anarion whispered, setting a hand on Kile's shoulder and pushing him lightly, urging him on. He didn't seem very out of breath.

"There!" Earendil pointed to where a dark pool lay in the shadow of the mountain. "I see something on the far side - could be a door!"

Another howl - the closest yet - and a wolf burst from the trees behind them. It was far larger than any normal wolf, with a massive, slavering jaw and yellow eyes alight with savage intelligence. It looked from side to side, nose quivering, then sighted the alliance.

"Run!" Grimmjow drew his sword. "I'll hold it off-"

"Don't be an _idiot_!" Anarion snapped, grabbing the District One boy's arm and dragging him onwards. On the far side of the pond, two massive holly bushes flanked something that glimmered silver on the rock face.

"Looks like a door," Kile panted as they drew near. "And... there's writing... at the top..."

The wolf splashed through the shallow pond edge. Earendil's bow twanged and the mutt reared up, an arrow in its eye, then toppled over into the water with a tremendous splash. There were more howls in the distance.

"The writing - what does it say?" Grimmjow squinted up at it. "Looks like instructions or something, but I can't read it. Radagast?"

"I'm a bit rusty, give me a moment-" Radagast peered up at the graceful lettering that formed the arched top of the door. Below it where the shimmering outlines of two trees and an eight pointed star. "Something about Durin... Celebrimbor... Eregion? I don't think that's important..."

"Hurry up," Thorin snapped. Behind them, Earendil loosed another arrow as three more wolves crept towards the water, yellow eyes gleaming. Anarion bundled Kile back against the wall behind him, drawing his sword.

"P-pedo..." Radagast bit his lip. "Pedo mellon a...?"

A crack appeared in the middle of the doorway, splitting the star neatly down the middle. It swung open, revealing darkness.

Kile froze, caught between the wolves behind and the black gate before. Anarion solved the problem by shoving him through. "Get in, get _in_!" he yelled, dragging Grimmjow after him. Radagast and Thorin hurried in, and Earendil only paused long enough to send one more arrow at the oncoming wolves before stepping inside.

"Close the door," Kile gasped, panic creeping into his voice as he set his shoulder against one great stone door. "Close it before they all come in!"

The others lept to help and the doors slid shut with a crash. There was a muffled thud from the other side, followed by a howl as the mutts sought entrance.

Kile heard Anarion unzip his backpack and rummage around in it. There was a click, and a beam of light shot out of the flashlight in his hand, revealing a set of stairs leading up into the gloom. The six of them stared at these for several long seconds before Thorin cleared his throat.

"I guess we just have to keep going in, huh?" And without waiting for a response, he started up the stairs.

* * *

**16) Katica Veselá (killed accidentally by Raziel): Whoops, guess you've lost your method of telling her and Kalliope apart, huh?**

**Tributes remaining (15 total): ************Jacquelyn/Calixe, Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**


	21. Eternity

**Day Four Part Two**

* * *

A single snowflake fell from the bruised grey sky above, landing on the path a few feet in front of Annelisa. She scowled at it, drawing her coat closer about her.

_Great. Just what I needed._

The wind picked up, whistling around the jagged stones that surrounded her, worming its way into cracks and crevices and blowing tiny puffs of white in every direction. She risked a glance over the edge of the steep drop-off to the right of the path and had to retreat quickly - she'd climbed quite far up the face of the mountain, and the drop was rather terrifying.

A white filigree of snow already dusted the rocks around her, making the footing a bit tricky. It didn't help that the shoes she had on amounted to little more than bedroom slippers - she'd been dropped into the arena barefoot and had had to scavenge for suitable footwear in the little hole-houses of the first arena. It had struck her as an unfair disadvantage, to be deprived of such an essential piece of clothing, but then again, she was already _at_ a disadvantage: she was from District Ten.

The Gamemakers seemed determined to make her life as hard as possible. Not only was she still separated from Amabel, but this morning's arena change had dropped her about halfway up this mountain. And while this gave her a fairly good view of the surrounding country, it was hardly the best (or safest) location. She had also been separated from the alliance she had been following, but had seen them from her higher vantage point - the chase by mutts, the retreat into a creepy doorway into the mountain beside her. She supposed they had stumbled upon a passageway through the mountains (lucky them), which left her with no choice but to continue climbing in search of her own way through - if she wanted to rejoin them, that was.

She hadn't been doing too badly, either, until now.

Faster than she would have thought possible, the snow falling around her had accumulated to a depth of about an inch. The flakes falling now were large and wet, but there were also stinging particles of ice mixed in that the wind - now howling about her - seemed to pick up and throw right into her face.

Still, she trudged on, head bowed into the wind and arms crossed across her chest to shelter her bare hands, hoping that she would eventually reach some point where the mountain was higher than the storm. (Being from the livestock district, of course, she knew little about mountains and the climbing thereof, and even less about the weather patterns surrounding such geographical features).

At some point, her aching legs and numb feet (not to mention numb arms, face, legs, etc.) forced her to take shelter beside a cliff that at least offered some protection from the bitterly cold wind. She clutched her coat, shivering miserably, and watched the swirling white wall before her, waiting for a gap in it as a sign that the storm was abating.

* * *

Every now and then, Karsa would almost hear - or imagine she heard - footsteps and voices. She would freeze, eyes searching the blackness before her in a futile attempt to see something, ears straining for the sound she could have _sworn_ she had heard, even though she knew that the only thing to break the silence was her and Mortimer's breathing. She would have welcomed conversation, but Mortimer seemed content to sit there in silence.

"Do you think we should see what else there is here?" she whispered, when the quiet became too much. "Beyond that doorway, I mean."

"Why?"

"To see where we are. To get out of here." _To do something besides sit here next to these skeletons like we're waiting for them to come alive or something._

"Die here, die there, what does it matter?"

Karsa knew he meant that as a rhetorical question, an end to their conversation, but she couldn't bear the thought of lapsing into further silence, and so countered with a question of her own.

"What do you think comes after?" she asked, voice echoing in the dark. "When we... y'know. When we die."

There was a soft noise as Mortimer shifted position. "Why does it matter?"

"Don't you think there's something after this? I mean, there has to be a... a point, right? A reason we're here. _I _think there must be, anyways."

Mortimer scoffed. "You mean you buy into that blather about a better place after death and all that? I thought you were more intelligent than that."

Her face flamed red, and she was glad he couldn't see her in the pitch-black cave. "Well, what do you think the point of all this is, then?" she snapped, defensive and more than a little angry at his automatic dismissal.

"I've seen what comes with death." There was none of the usual hesitation that a normal person would have, saying that word, only the soft, even tone of voice he always had. "Every year, two children go into this arena and end up on the table at my house. It's our job to pretty them up for the funeral, hide the reality that comes with death - but I know the truth. It doesn't matter how they die - brave or cowardly, running or fighting, it all ends the same way. Last year? That girl died brave, according to the cameras, tortured to death by that bitch from Nine. By the time they got her to us, she'd started to rot, and they'd never bothered to clean up all the blood, so it was terribly clotted, all over her face and arms and legs. It's always hardest to make the tributes look better, you know."

Karsa flinched. "Mortimer, that's-"

"And the year before that? The girl crushed by a pile of rocks, the boy shot in the heart right by her body? Such a bother, having to deal with two bodies at the same time. The girl had to have a closed-casket funeral, we couldn't do anything at all for someone who had every bone in their body broken by a few tons of concrete."

Not for the first time, Karsa wondered if her District partner was entirely sane.

"They last long enough for the family to cry over them, and then the casket top is closed, and into the ground they go. And then it doesn't matter what they look like, because no one sees them anymore, but I know what happens. There's nothing after death but an eternity of decay, alone in the dark with the worms and the dust and the slow creep of time. There's no point in pretending otherwise - or in caring."

"Are you... are you saying that life isn't worth living, since we all die in the end?" She was aware of the fact that her voice had risen several octaves, that she was projecting outraged disbelief, but she didn't care.

"It's more like... living is such a _bother_. We're born, we reproduce, we die - and some of us don't even get around the reproduction part. Death is the only real certainty."

"Maybe... maybe it's just the way you're living."

He stirred beside her, and she knew that he was looking at her. "What do you mean by that?"

She lowered her voice, aware of the cameras that had to be somewhere in the darkness. "The way we all live... everyone in District Three, everyone in Panem. This isn't really _life_, is it?"

"Are you talking about rebellion?" He didn't bother lowering his voice, and she flinched at the way that word fell into the air - a dangerous word, a blood-stained word.

"_Not_ rebellion. Just... escape."

"Escape," he repeated, managing to impart all his skepticism and scorn into those two syllables.

"Yes, escape," she replied emphatically. "My brother Dante and I, we've tried to get away from District Three before. We were going to begin our best plan yet on Reaping Day, but then this happened. So when I get back-" She stumbled over the words, expecting him to scoff, but he didn't say anything - not that he needed to, she could feel his disbelief from here. "_When_ I get back, we'll get out of here."

"And when that plan fails? And the next, and the one after that? When do you finally give up, Karsa?"

"Never," she snapped, anger creeping into her voice.

She saw Mortimer open his mouth as though to respond, then realized that there was suddenly enough light for her to make out his facial expressions. There was some dim illumination now, coming from beyond the archway and steadily brightening. And now voices reached her ears, not half-imagined phantoms but real and familiar.

"Radagast, are you sure this is the right way?"

"Nope!"

"...we're lost, aren't we."

"Well, if you don't know where you're going it doesn't really matter where you end up, does it?"

Karsa watched the beam of a flashlight skitter across the floor beyond the doorway, illuminating pieces of rubble and more piles of rags like the ones in the side chamber that she and Mortimer were in.

"Are those... skeletons?"

"Looks like it. Don't worry, Kile, they can't hurt you."

"I wasn't _worrying_!"

Pressing herself closer to the wall, Karsa watched the six figures make their way across the hall to the doorway beyond, not even peeking into the chamber that adjourned. She glanced at Mortimer, who shrugged.

"If you want," he said in answer to her unspoken question. "I don't care."

She scrambled to her feet and picked up her backpack, hearing him do the same behind her. They followed the bobbing flashlight up a sloped passageway, listening to the voices echoing back through the darkness that surrounded them, drowning out any sound their footsteps might make.

* * *

The air in Harora's tower room was getting a bit stuffy, but she didn't dare do more than open the single, narrow window in the hopes of catching a stray breeze. The trapdoor in the middle of the circular chamber remained shut and barred, and if she had had the strength she would have dragged some furniture over it, too. Raziel had been steadily pounding at the doors to the tower for the better part of the past hour, and even though the sound was muffled by the many floors between him and her, she could tell that the door wasn't going to last much longer.

If he could hammer through a set of heavy wooden doors, wouldn't he find this flimsy trapdoor little more than a nuisance?

She supposed she could always hit him over the head with her staff or something, but there was always the burden of the knowledge that came every time she leaned out the window and peered down at him.

_I know how he dies. And I am not the one to kill him._

_(blood everywhere - there's always blood, hovering in a thick miasma around the doomed tributes - but from a wound she could not have made with a staff, a _sword_ wound - )_

She strode to the window, leaned out over the sill into the still air, looking up at the sky and trying to clear her mind. The paths below were tiny, the view beyond dizzying - wide, open grasslands to the east, a river flowing west, mountains behind her and running into the distance, misty and capped with snow.

Turning back, she surveyed the room she was currently trapped in. It looked almost like some sort of workshop or study - there were papers scattered everywhere, with notes scribbled on them in an elegant, loopy alphabet that was completely unfamiliar to her. She had amused herself for awhile by going through these papers, tracing the arches and loops and dots, wondering what it could mean. There was also a stone bowl filled with small chips of what looked suspiciously like dynamite - not that she'd wanted to test it out.

And in the corner...

Almost against her will, Harora moved towards the marble stand in the far corner. The sphere of smoky glass that rested on it had been obscured by a cloth when she'd first retreated to this room, as though she weren't meant to see it. It had glowed under her touch, and the swirling smoke within had parted to show her Raziel, battering at her front door.

For anyone else, this might have been a huge advantage - being able to track the movements of other tributes, watch them (even if the ball didn't seem to transmit audible sound), _spy_ on them. But when the image of Raziel appeared, Harora had been immediately assaulted with his _death_, far stronger even than if he had been in the room with her. It was almost as though the sphere was picked up whatever invisible waves showed Harora the fates of others and amplified them.

And yet there was something oddly tantalizing about that smooth surface, the dark mist flowing under it, the promise of vision.

She bent over it, and Raziel's face drifted up, sweat running down his forehead as he hacked at the splintering wood before him. There was a flash of his doom _(blood and darkness and a face looming up out of the gloom, eyes lit with righteous vengeance)_ before she wrenched it away, sent it questing eastwards. Over the grasslands she sped, over the mountains, as if drawn onwards by some magnetic force.

A white city loomed up in the sphere, glittering in the sunlight, and then suddenly a face filled her view. Harora found herself inches from the District Twelve girl's image - Amabel - and heard her voice in her head as though they were speaking face-to-face.

_-What... who are you?-_

Startled, Harora stumbled back, tearing her eyes away, echoes of Amabel's death flashing across her eyes. Below her there was a tremendous crash, and she flinched, knowing that Raziel had finally broken through. Something compelled her to look into the stone again and send it racing away from the city, towards where a dark range of mountains loomed under a grey, smoky sky.

And then the view snapped to that of an interior room, the walls black, damp stone, lit from above with an eerie green glow. She leaned closed, willing the image to expand, and the sight of a familiar figure made her catch her breath.

_If that's who I think it is..._

Harora watched the girl pace back and forth, then glance towards her ally, who was in the corner hunched over what looked like a coin. Neither of them seemed aware of the sphere that Harora was almost completely certain had to be in the room with them somewhere.

The trapdoor in the center of the tower room began to shiver under heave blows from below and she backed away from the sphere, clutching her staff tightly in one hand. She watched the wood splinter in the middle, buckling under Raziel's attack, the beginning of a plan forming in her mind.

* * *

**Tributes remaining (15 total): ************Jacquelyn/Calixe, Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**


	22. Seven Stars and Seven Stones

**Day Four Part Three**

* * *

For some bizarre reason, the arena seemed determined to continue to drop Natho in the same vicinity as the more formidable half of the Career alliance. The logic behind this rather escaped him, as did that behind many of the other choices the Gamemakers had made thus far - why, for example, split up the Career alliance in the first place?

Violet, on the other hand, seemed perfectly willing to accept - and work around - these seemingly illogical decisions. And since Natho was not currently the one in control of his own body, he hadn't had much of a say in their solution.

He had to admit, though, that it had been awfully smart of Violet to tie them to a tree so the arena couldn't suck them up and whisk them off to wherever the Careers were going. She had also been the one to insist on walking away from the Careers through most of the night, which meant that now they were completely alone.

Well. Alone in a manner of speaking.

_Aren't you getting tired?_ he asked, a mocking note creeping into his thought-voice as he watched Violet clamber over a felled tree. _Staying up all night, hiking like this... it's exhausting, huh?_

She shook their head, a movement small enough that the cameras would never notice.

_Still so careful. Don't want to look insane, huh? Well, you'll slip eventually, you know-_

"You keep saying that," Violet whispered. "I haven't messed up yet, have I?"

_I'll be waiting._

"Yeah. Sure." She paused at the crest of a hill, shading their eyes with one hand as she peered at the mountain ahead. At the base of a sheer cliff lay a still, dark pool, surface unbroken by ripples.

_Looks like a lake,_ Natho noted, and felt Violet roll their eyes at his statement of the obvious.

She checked the water level in the canteen strapped to their waist - about a quarter full. They'd almost certainly need more before nightfall, especially if she kept forcing this march, and the water down there looked nice and cold.

_Could be unsafe to drink_.

"That's what water purification tablets are for, I guess," she muttered, starting down the hill.

Their feet crunched on the pebbles beside the water as they drew closer. Violet eyed the surface as she unscrewed the top of the bottle. A stream led away from it, but it was slow-moving and shallow, choked with algae. The lake itself had an odd look to it - it was too dark, too calm.

_Losing your nerve?_ Natho taunted, and that provided all the impetus she needed to crouch down and start to fill her bottle. The water rushed in with a gurgle, and she tried not to shudder at the feel of it as it touched her fingers.

There was a soft splash from farther out in the lake and she lept back with a gasp. Ripples were radiating outwards from the middle of the pond, as though something had moved under the water.

_A fish?_ Natho sounded a bit nervous for the first time. She swallowed, mouth dry.

"Probably just a fish," she agreed. She realized that she was clutching the water bottle so tightly her knuckles were white and forced herself to relax and bend down to resume filling it.

This task completed, she turned away, intending to purify it once they were well away from this lake. She was only a few steps up the pebbled beach when she felt something wrap around their ankle.

_Oh, shit._

Violet looked down to see a long green tentacle gripping their leg, suckers grasping at her skin, and almost dropped the water bottle. She drew her knife and started hacking at it, sobbing in terror and disgust.

The water before her erupted as dozens more tentacles burst forth, each of them thicker than her arm. She redoubled her efforts on the one that had a hold of her, choking back a cry of revulsion as the thing's thick green blood spattered her.

_Violet! Let me come forward!_ Natho gasped. _I'm stronger - I can get us free faster! I'm a boy!_

"That doesn't even _make sense_! We're in the same - damn - body, you _sexist pig_!" Violet spat, burying her knife in the tentacle with each word. It finally withdrew, wrenching the knife from her hands as it retracted. She scrambled up the hill, panting, sure that at any moment the tentacles would wrap around her again, drag her into that cold, dark lake to drown her - but when she turned back to look she saw the tentacles retreating back beneath the water, the surface of the lake smoothing out too quickly to be quite natural.

She sank to the ground, leaning against the nearest tree, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up in their throat. Their ankle was bleeding where the tentacle had grabbed them, but she still clutched the water bottle - filled all the way up - in one hand.

_You're not really going to drink that, are you?_ Natho ventured as she rummaged in the backpack for the purification tablets.

"Water's water," she replied, not even bothering to keep her voice low. "Once it's purified, it doesn't matter where it came from, right?"

* * *

Splinters of wood fell into Raziel's face as he pounded at the trapdoor with the hilt of his sword. Compared to the double doors below (now with a gaping hole where one of the panels used to be), this square of wood was quite flimsy.

One final blow, and the trapdoor exploded upwards, shards raining down on him. He paused, breathing heavily, staring up through the jagged hole. If Nine was smart, she'd be waiting a few paces away, that staff of hers poised to come crashing down on his head - it was what he would have done in her place. Since he didn't much fancy having his skull bashed in, he had to move quickly.

There was a small ledge on one side of the trapdoor where a ladder had no doubt rested before Nine pulled it up after her. He gripped this with one hand, testing it - then tensed his arm, propelling his body up and through the trapdoor.

Nine was waiting about halfway across the room, clutching her staff. Raziel moved forward, sword a blur, and there was a clang as she somehow managed to get her weapon up in time to block his blow. He pressed her backwards, sword level with her throat, the black wood of her staff (trapped between his blade and her body) the only thing between her and decapitation.

"Got you, Nine," he hissed, slamming her into a wall, bearing down on his sword. Her arms quivered with the effort of keeping her staff where it was, but he was barely exerting himself.

"Wait!" she gasped. "Don't kill me yet-"

"Why should I spare you?" Raziel replied, laughing. "Gonna tell me how I die?"

She met his eyes, frantic. "No - I can get you in contact with your allies!"

For one confused second he thought she meant Katica - that she had some sort of channel of communication to the afterlife. This, of course, was ridiculous - unless she had Jacquelyn and Calixe stuffed in a closet somewhere, there was no way they could be anywhere near her - and in contact with her - without him knowing.

"What do you mean?"

"Over there - in the corner-" Her eyes flicked towards something behind him, and he laughed.

"Nice try, Nine. I'm not turning around so you can hit me over the head with that stick of yours. Describe it to me."

He saw the movement in her pale throat as she swallowed. "It's a sphere. About a foot in diameter. Made of glass or something, I don't know, but I can see things in it, far away things."

He scoffed. "What is it, magic?"

"Probably a Gamemaker transmitter. But I think your allies have one too, and these stones can sort of... talk to one another. I think."

He regarded her for a few long seconds. _Could she be telling the truth?_ "Drop your staff, then, and show me." No sense in killing her if there was even the slightest chance he could contact Jacquelyn.

She did as he ordered, releasing the staff. He withdrew his sword just enough for her to slip out under the blade and make her way to the corner with him following, read and watching for any signs of deception.

The sphere was in a marble stand in the corner, grey mist swirling within it. Raziel watched as she bent over it, and wondered what kind of technology was behind it - if it did what she said it did, of course. Something like the holoscreens he'd seen his stylists use, perhaps? It was common knowledge that the Capitol used technology far more advanced than anything the Districts had, and that the Gamemakers had access to developments beyond even that - one only had to look at the arenas to see that.

Harora's fingers danced over the ball's smooth surface, and it brightened. He peered over her shoulder at it, careful to keep his sword ready.

* * *

"Five times heads, six times tails..."

Jacquelyn glanced over at her ally, debating the advantages of telling him to shut the hell up. Calixe flipped his coin again, tracing its glittering arc through the air with patient eyes, then bent to examine it.

"Six times heads, six times tails..."

_A pirate captain does what she wants. _She crossed her arms, glared at her ally. "Shut up."

He looked up at her, gaze impassive. "I am listening to the voice of Fate. It is not for mere mortals to interfere."

"I am your _captain_," she snapped, painfully aware of the fact that anyone that had to remind their followers of their authority did not really have any.

"Fate will show us the way, and it doesn't need your help!" he spat back.

She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a piercing voice that seemed to come from everywhere in the room - and originated only in her head.

_-Jacquelyn!-_

Calixe's head snapped up. "Did you...?"

"Hear that? Yeah." She scanned the ceiling above, looking for a hidden microphone.

_-Not there.-_ The voice sounded almost amused. -L_ook down.-_

Jacquelyn glanced at the floor. "Yeah? What about it?" It looked the same as if had when the arena dropped her and Calixe here - a slightly curved surface, smooth like glass and sloping away to the walls, something almost like black smoke swirling under all of it.

_-Oh, I see!-_ This was another voice, one that sounded strangely familiar. _-Jacquelyn, touch the floor.-_

"Why?"

_-Just do it!-_

Feeling slightly ridiculous, she bent and brushed her fingers against the floor. Light swirled out from the spot she'd touched, resolving itself into an image of a dark-haired, red-eyed girl, and, standing behind her, sword drawn - Raziel.

_-Hey, Jacquelyn,-_ he said, and his mouth moved in the image but she heard his voice in her head.

"That's _captain_ to you," she replied. "Where are you and what's that lower District brat you've got with you?"

The girl opened her mouth, anger flashing in her eyes, then stiffened as Raziel set his sword against her back. _-No one important. Shall I kill her, now that she's shown me how to contact you?-_

Jacquelyn regarded the girl thoughtfully, taking in the red eyes (obviously contacts), the fading cut that ran down her right cheek, the bandage on her arm. "YOu said she showed you how to use this device?"

_-Yeah.-_

"Seems to me like she's willing to help us. And every good pirate knows the advantage of having agents scattered through the land, right?" She smiled at the girl, saw something spark in her eyes. "You can let her go, Raziel. Leave her there as a spy and come up here. I presume you can see where we are with that thing?"

Raziel sheathed his sword reluctantly. _-I suppose so.-_

"I expect you by tomorrow, then." No need to tell him that, until now, she and Calixe had been virtually trapped in this room, cut off from the entrance by a labyrinth of twisting passages. Neither of them had wanted to risk getting lost in that, but with this device, finding a way out would be simple.

_-I'm on my way, captain.-_ His image faded, leaving only the blank field of grey mist.

* * *

Since discovering the watching device (or whatever it was) the day before, Amabel had done little more than sit there, engrossed in the visions which flitted across the surface. The entire arena was spread out before her, encapsulated in this sphere of smooth glass. There had been few interruptions - she'd gone to relieve herself once or twice, and there had been the unexpected contact with the _other_ a little while ago - a brief glimpse of a face, then severed contact. It had led her to wonder if there were others with these stones, other people watching as she did, but when she ventured in that direction again she saw only blankness, as though that stone were obscured. It reminded her of the testing pattern that was occasionally run on their television set at home, for some reason.

She had found some sort of stand that seemed built to hold the stone, and engraved around its base had been some sort of poem - _tall ships and tall kings, three times three/what brought they from the foundered land over the flowing sea?/seven stars and seven stones and one white tree. Most of its three lines only confused her, but the last part - seven stars and seven stones - that made sense. The stones meant there had to be more than one of these things. _

_She had sense areas of attraction while searching, as hough her gaze was being drawn there - had in fact followed one of these to the other girl - but the views were almost all of old ruins or dirt or the wavering blue ocean. In fact, the only other stones (as she supposed these pockets of attraction were) that seemed to be near other tributes were the one that she had had that brief contact with, and one through which she had caught a glimpse of the Career girl and her ally.  
_

_That was not to say that she couldn't see tributes who did not have stones. Quite the opposite, in fact. One of the first things she had done yesterday was check up on Annelisa. Her ally had seemed perfectly fine, which was good._

_And now? Do you know where she is now?_

It probably didn't matter. So what if Amabel had gotten distracted exploring all the horizons the stone had to offer her? Annelisa was almost certainly fine.

_Are you sure, though? Shouldn't you check?_

Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away from the dazzling array of shimmering fireworks that were blooming over some faraway country and sent it questing over field and mountain for her ally. It was no small task to locate a single girl in a vast arena, and it was a few minutes before she could zoom in on a small, huddled figure at the base of a snow-blown cliff.

_She's in trouble!_

The realization ripped through her, forcing her to drop the stone and back away. She'd been sitting her idly, spying on irrelevant things, when her ally was busy freezing to death on some lonely mountain!

She grabbed her pack, fury bubbling up inside of her. How could she have been so careless? And the Gamemakers - the Gamemakers must have planted this thing here to distract her, keep her from helping Annelisa.

_Damn them. I'll kill them - every last one of them-_

She clenched her fists, fighting back the red haze that threatened to cloud her vision. The best thing to do would be to leave this place, to make for those mountains and help Annelisa. Never mind the distance, never mind the risk - she _would_ succeed.

_And you should leave that damned stone here, too,_ the more reasonable side of her pointed out. But she found herself scooping it up and securing it in her bag before turning and striding down the hall, leaving the stern statues and the lonely throne behind.

_It'll be useful,_ she reasoned. _Really, it will. And I won't get distracted by it again, I won't._

* * *

**Tributes remaining (15 total): ************Jacquelyn/Calixe, Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer/Karsa, Natho, Harora**

**********PSA: I will be at camp without internet access from 7/10/13 to 7/30/13. Do not expect any updates during this time.**


	23. In The End

**Day Four Part Four**

* * *

Isis Perra sat primly in the interviewer's chair, one leg crossed over the other and hands folded in her lap. Her dark blue dress shimmered faintly under the lights, clinging to every contour of her body, the cuffs and hem sparkling with small diamonds.

"You ready?" Dayton was still adjusting the collar of his suit, green eyes gleaming with anticipation. "So _nice_ of Ms. Atredies to grant us this time with you, this'll really boost our ratings–"

"Let's get this over with." The Gamemaker's words were clipped, cold. "This interview was arranged without my consent. I have important work to be doing right now."

Undeterred, Dayton leaned forward with a smile. "You'll have to be a bit friendlier for the cameras, Isis."

Her eyes flashed. "You presume too much, _Mr._ Ward," she replied with an icy smile, voice lowered in a blatantly threatening manner – _remember your place, you are but an interviewer and I am a Gamemaker – and interviewers are easily replaced._

Dayton sat back suddenly, clearing his throat. He snapped his fingers at the cameraman and the light above the lens flared green.

"Greetings, Panem!" His teeth gleamed as he smiled at the camera, tossing in a wink for good measure. "Things are heating up in the arena, so I know you're all eager to get back to the regularly scheduled program, but I have someone I'd like to introduce to you – Ms. Isis Perra, Gamemaker and primary arena designer!"

The camera panned to Isis, who gave it a curt nod.

"Ms. Perra has graciously agreed to this exclusive interview with us, and we're hoping she'll be able to tell us a bit about this incredible arena she's helped bring to life." He paused, clearly waiting for Isis to jump in with some information about said arena. When she failed to comply, he offered her a sharp smile. "It must be hard, keeping track of so many tributes. How do you manage that?"

"Killing them off one by one tends to help with that," Isis deadpanned. Dayton shifted, clearly not sure if he was supposed to laugh or not.

"Ah. Of course. I'd imagine that once you're down to only a handful of tributes it all becomes much easier, right?"

Isis nodded.

"So. The current arena that the tributes are in – can you tell us anything about that?"

For the first time, Isis seemed engaged. "Well, the tributes are split up into three main groups right now – the ones in the mines, the ones in the area surrounding the mountains, and those a bit further away, on the plains. At the moment, the most interesting group for us is the one in the mines – we have a few surprises planned as they cross through."

"I'm sure we're all looking forward to that," Dayton chuckled. "The tributes in the mines... that would be the larger lower district alliance with the District One boy, and District Three following them?"

"Yes." Isis leaned forward, a smile curving her lips. "And I'll let you in on a little secret, Dayton. The door at the end of the mine – their escape route – is closed and locked. It won't open until something _very specific_ happens."

"And what might that be?"

"One of the tributes in the mines must die."

* * *

"I dislike this place."

"You and everyone else, blondie. Even I sense something... strange."

"Nay, it is not only the darkness. There is – there is something watching us. Following us." Earendil's hand was clenched around his bow as he glanced back and forth, brow furrowed. Beside him, Thorin held his torch high – it had been scavenged from a wall sconce and lit with Anarion's matches.

"Will you hurry up?" Grimmjow called from the front of the line. "Let's not linger here longer than strictly necessary, huh?"

Earendil and Thorin exchanged a glance and picked up their pace, drawing level with Anarion and Kile. Further ahead, Radagast led the way with a long torch, staff tapping the stone floor. Grimmjow was a few paces behind him, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Odd place, this," Kile noted, voice low. "Some kind of underground palace, d'you think?"

"Whatever it was, it's huge." Anarion didn't look particularly happy, either – he kept fingering the hilt of his own sword, eyes darting into the shadows. They were all a bit on edge, truth be told – something to do with the darkness pressing in around their little globe of light, the apparent echoes that seemed to follow them but never quite seemed to stop when they did.

Radagast held up a hand for silence and they all froze. "Do you hear that?"

In the silence, the only audible noise was their breathing – and perhaps beyond that, muffled footsteps that stopped a few seconds after theirs did, too long of a delay to be an echo, but too soft to be certain.

"Do you think someone's following us?" Kile whispered, a quaver of fear entering his voice.

"Someone... or something," Thorin replied darkly. Anarion shot him a glare.

"No need to be dramatic. It could just be a lost tribute or something, hoping we know the way out of here."

"Or it could be a mutt," Earendil supplied helpfully. Kile squeaked.

"Guys." Grimmjow folded his arms. "Let's get moving. I think I see daylight ahead."

"Daylight?" Kile moved as though to rush forward, but Anarion held him back.

"Wait. I'll go first." He strong through the door, drawing his sword as he went. The others followed, edging sideways through the partly open stone door.

They entered into a large chamber with an arched ceiling rising up dizzyingly high. A shaft of pale sunlight streamed from a window high above, illuminating a slab of white marble in the center of the floor.

"Do you think we can get out through that?" Kile asked hopefully, pointing up to the skylight. Anarion shook his head.

"I doubt it. See – there aren't any handholds, and the ceiling curves out. 'Sides, it's too high up."

"Too bad," Kile sighed, plopping down on a nearby pile of rubble. "I just wanna get out of here."

"We have to keep going," Grimmjow snapped. "There's no time to sit around–"

"Oh, shut up and let him rest!" Thorin's eyes flashed as he strode up to the District One boy and pushed him in the chest, away from Kile. "You've been dragging us through here for hours and hours, we're all tired, just lighten up already!"

"Do you want to _die,_ Twelve, is that it? The longer we stay here, the more likely it is that something's going to find us here!"

"Um... guys?" Radagast tried to step between the two boys. "I don't think shouting in here is a good idea."

Thorin shoved Radagast out of the way. "We have no idea where we are, the Gamemakers could have put whatever they want to in our path, don't you think we should stop and _think_ about where the hell we're going?" By now everyone was staring at the two of them, wide-eyed.

"It's pretty obvious we need to get out of here," Grimmjow spat. "There's only one main passage – or is that too simple for you? Do you want to find a harder way through?"

"Rushing headlong into danger isn't–"

"Letting danger come to us is a stupid idea even for someone as thick as you–"

"Fine!" Thorin exploded. "Leave, then! Go on all by yourself, if that's what you want to do!"

There was a very loud thud from somewhere further underground. Both boys froze. Radagast buried his face in his hands.

"Look what you did," he groaned. "You woke up whatever twisted thing the Gamemakers put here. Way to go."

A second thud, then a third – almost like drums, or the footsteps of something enormous. And there was another sound, too, a soft flutter-crackle, like moth wings. An acrid tang filled the air.

"Is that fire?" Kile whimpered. "I smell fire. I mean smoke. I mean–"

"Run!" Grimmjow yelled, and this time Thorin didn't argue with him. They sprinted out the far door, a steadily brightening orange glow creeping up the tunnel behind them.

* * *

"Mortimer? Can we - can we run now?"

"That might be a good idea, yes."

The passage was swiftly filling with smoke, the air about Mortimer and Karsa taking on a reddish glow. Something was coming, footsteps thunderously loud in the blistering air. The footsteps of the alliance they had been following had faded - as had the light of their torches. The fire, hot though it was, was not quite enough to see by.

"Which way is the exit?" Karsa managed to choke out, trying not to breathe in too much smoke. She had some vague recollection of elementary school fire drills, and something about staying low to escape smoke inhalation, but there was too much clutter here to attempt that.

"I don't know," Mortimer replied, coughing.

The smoke was thick, now, stinging their eyes and obscuring their vision. She felt along the wall, closing her eyes, hoping to come across the empty space of a doorway, and hopefully one that led out of this small hallway.

"Karsa?"

She opened her eyes, turning, surprised by the sound in Mortimer's voice - almost like fear, but Mortimer never showed _any_ emotion, let alone fear. She opened her mouth to ask what the matter was, and froze.

Behind Mortimer, looming up high enough that the tip of it brushed the ceiling, was a monstrous... _something_. Formed entirely of flame, with twin sparks of blood red glowing under a smoky helm, it filled the hall with roaring flame - and it was coming towards them.

"Run!" she screamed, grabbing Mortimer's hand and throwing herself blindly away from the beast. She felt the ground tremble as it roared, but her hand caught on the rough stone of the doorsill and she yanked them through, gasping and choking, tasting bitter smoke on her tongue. The air on the other side was marginally clearer, and there was sunlight streaming in form somewhere above, enough to illuminate the room. There were several doors leading out, all of them slightly ajar.

"Which way?" Mortimer gasped, rubbing at his smoke-reddened eyes. Karsa spun, panicked, trying to pick a door before the mutt burst into the room with them.

"That one!" She pulled him through one at random, blinking at the sudden darkness - and realized abruptly that it had been the wrong choice, that they were now in a small chamber with no way out.

The room beyond exploded into flame. She fell back, heat beating at her face, blistering her skin until she cried out. Mortimer grabbed her, dragged her back further into the darkness.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, breath tickling her ear. She shook her head, letting him wrap his arms around her quaking body. Her face and arms hurt where they had been licked by the fire beyond, a sharp and immediate pain, as though the heat were still there.

"I can't - we're not gonna get out of here, Mortimer, we're gonna die in here-"

"It's alright," he told her, voice surprisingly gentle. "Fire's a fast way to die, I guess - better than starving, right? Just a bit of pain, and then nothing."

"That's no comfort," she replied, pulling away. "Maybe - maybe there's an escape route - another room or something-"

The fire had reached the doorway of the smaller room, and she could hear the heavy breathing of the beast beyond. She scoured the walls, frantically searching for a way out, _anything_.

"Karsa, there's nothing." Mortimer's dark eyes reflected the flames, orange and red light dancing across his face.

"I don't want to die!" she screamed, turning back to him, surprised to find her vision blurring with tears. Furious with herself, she swiped them away, hating her own weakness. "I want to go home to my brother and find a way to escape it all and just _live_!"

Mortimer's eyes widened. "Karsa, I-"

There was a rumbling noise, and the ceiling above them trembled. Karsa had time for one terrified glance upwards before a flood of rock came crashing down. She felt a sudden, blinding pain in her back and cried out, falling.

"Karsa!"

Beyond the doorway, the beast paused - then continued on, leaving a swath of flame in its wake. The flames licked at the new pile of rubble, sending tentative fingers up the stone. Karsa felt a brush of agony on the back of her leg and whimpered.

"Karsa, where are you?" Mortimer's voice came from the other side of a pile of rock. She saw it shift, and watched his pale face emerge, smudged with rock dust. "Karsa..." His voice trailed off as he caught sight of her, trapped beneath the rock.

She managed a weak smile through the pain. "Looks like I'll have a messy funeral, huh?"

Mortimer knelt beside her, and she could see blood seeping through a tear in his pants. "Do you want me to try and help you get out, or do you want to just wait?"

"Wait for death, you mean?" _Only you would ask that, Mortimer._ "I think I'll just wait."

"It's better that way, isn't it?" He took her hand, and she realized that it was slick with her own blood. The rocks above her were pressing down, crushing her, and every breath hurt.

"Will you stay with me?" she found herself asking. "I don't... I don't want to be alone."

"You know, Karsa... in the end, everyone dies alone." But he moved closer, taking her head in his lap. "Close your eyes, then. It'll be faster. I'll stay until the cannon, if you want."

She met his eyes, surprised to see tears there. "Thank you, Mortimer."

He smiled at her, and she closed her eyes, his face the last imprint on the back of her eyelids. She could feel fire on her legs, stealing up her body, white-hot and purifying. Her skin was breaking, her flesh disintegrating, and all that was left were ashes.

* * *

Anarion reached the cliff first, and skidded to a halt at the brink of the chasm, eyes wide. "What the hell is this?"

"Looks like a bridge," Thorin snapped. "C'mon!"

Behind them, the doorway was filled with fire, an indistinct shape looming out of the shadows, wreathed in smoke, tendrils of flames snapping out like whips. Before them was a crack in the earth, wide, the only passage across a thin stone bridge that barely looked like it could hold a mouse, let alone six tributes.

"Go!" Grimmjow shoved Kile out onto the bridge. When it didn't collapsed under his weight, the others began to edge out across it, careful on the smooth stone.

"What sort of psycho thought this was a safe manner of crossing anything, let alone a bottomless pit?" Earendil grumbled as he stepped carefully out, trying to stay in the very center of the bridge, which was so narrow that they had to pass one at a time.

There was a rumble, and the bridge trembled. The wall at the far end exploded outwards, raining down rubble and embers around the alliance. Something enormous and flaming stood in the gaping hole, advancing on them. It paused at the edge of the bridge as though unsure, then stepped onto it, making it quake under its weight.

Kile threw himself onto the ground at the far side, clutching an outcropping of rock to steady himself. The others hurried off the bridge as well, terror evident on every face.

"Is there a door somewhere?" Radagast asked. "There should be a door. We've reached the end of the mines, right?"

"There!" Anarion pointed, grabbing onto a rock and vaulting up. He clambered up to where a door was visible in the rock, carved from the living stone with a handle of silver set on the left side. Grabbing this, he yanked as hard as he could. The door refused to budge.

"What's the matter?" Grimmjow pulled himself up to stand by Anarion's side.

"It's locked," he grunted, straining against it once more. Behind them, the flaming beast reached the center of the bridge.

"Let me try." Grimmjow drew his sword and set the blade in the crack between the door and the wall, feeling for the lock. He brought it down, hard, and sparks flew - but when he withdrew his sword, the steel was scratched.

"That's not going to work," Earendil called up. "Maybe if we all pull...?"

The beast reached the far side, streamers of flame trailing behind it. They could feel the heat from where they were, see the long trail of fire stretching behind it, burning still - as though it was somehow hot enough to consume stone.

"It's no use," Anarion replied, shaking his head. He jumped back down and stood by Kile, drawing the small boy closer.

Grimmjow drew his sword, face set. "Then we shall go down fighting. A king should die defending his people, after all. It is the most fitting death."

Earendil set an arrow to his string and fired. It caught in fire mid-air, an arc of bright orange lost in the brilliant heat cascading from the beast.

"Shall we charge?" Grimmjow asked, raising his sword above his head. It reflected the flames, light running up and down its length so it seemed ablaze. "On my command-"

At that moment, several things happened at once.

The beast reared up, a whip of flame rising and striking the ceiling, sending pebbles raining down. Somewhere in the distance, a cannon fired, its deep boom audible even down here.

And the door slid open.

"Get out!" Anarion yelled, seizing Kile by the back of his shirt and throwing up up to the door. He leapt up himself, offering a hand to Radagast. The beast crashed back down, whip cracking and striking the wall beside the door, leaving a glowing red mark. Grimmjow and Earendil scrambled up and out, slamming the door closed behind them.

There was a crash as the beast slammed into the door, and there was a visible red glow seeping out through the seams in the rock - but they had escaped.

* * *

**15) Karsa Dell (killed in fire): I'll go ahead and say that writing from her point of view was really relaxing and came sorta naturally, for some reason. Also her and Mortimer's interactions were adorable. And I shipped that. I could go on a really long rant here about their characters and the way they contrast so freaking well and just - I should stop now.**

**According to my chapter outline we are officially more than halfway through!**

**Tributes remaining (14 total): Jacquelyn/Calixe, Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer, Natho, Harora**


	24. Beside the Falls

**Day Five Part One**

* * *

The fiery beast stood at the end of the bridge, head moving to and fro. The rock behind it was scarred and bubbled with head from its attempts to reach the tributes who had escaped it, and now it was waiting – there was yet one more tribute in its lair, small and defenseless.

The bridge across the chasm was blackened and warped by the creature's passage, the stone buckled and cracked in its footprints. A trail of smoking ash led back, further into the mines, the fire that followed it having consumed itself and flickered out. The beast itself still glowed sullenly, fire dimmed as it rested but ready to flare up at a moment's notice.

It turned its head to peer at the doorway again, seeking in vain for a weakness in the rock – and when it turned back again, the boy was standing at the other side of the chasm.

Mortimer's skin was streaked with grey ash and his hands were spattered with something dark red. His eyes were twin chips of black ice as he stared at the beast, face so still it might have been carved of stone.

The beast stepped out onto the bridge, the stone groaning under its weight. Mortimer didn't even flinch as it sent a tendril of fire hissing past his face, an angry red burn rising on the side of his neck. There was blood at his feet, too, dripping down from a wound on his left leg, staining the stone floor.

_Fire isn't such a bad way to die._

The stone around the feet of the creature was becoming molten, streaming down the side of the bridge and cooling in twisted formations. The center of the thin stone pass began to buckle in the middle, borne down by the immense weight, weakened by the shattering heat.

_In the end, we all die alone._

The creature send another whip of flame at him and it caught momentarily on his arm, curling once around his wrist before slipping away, leaving a livid burn like a bracelet. Heat enveloped Mortimer, baking air blowing about him as the beast neared, whipping his dark hair into his eyes and tugging at his clothes.

_Make it quick–_

There was a groan as the bridge shifted, and the beast paused, thrown off balance. The stone beneath its feet cracked, unable to support it any longer, and there was a sudden rain of rubble falling into the abyss. There was no audible sound of it hitting bottom.

Mortimer watched the beast start to move as though it realized its peril. Too late – the bridge gave way with a mighty crack, the creature slipping over the edge amid a shower of boulders, a falling star plunging into darkness.

The light faded. Mortimer peered over the edge and thought he saw a final flare of brilliance – and then the spark below was extinguished, leaving him alone in the dark.

* * *

Harora watched the sun rise from her tower window, feeling the arena tremble about her as it readied for another day. She braced herself against the windowsill, clutching the stone tight. It was more out of habit than true worry – she hadn't been swept away from this tower yet, and she was beginning to wonder if the Gamemakers didn't intend to just leave her here indefinitely.

The arena stilled and she relaxed. Almost as if in response to this, there was a flare of light from the corner of the room.

_–Harora?–_

Something like a smile crossed her face at the sound of that voice echoing in her head, and she hurried over to her stone, unconsciously running a hand through her messy hair. "Jacquelyn. Good morning."

The District Four girl's face was framed in the clear glass, brown eyes bright. _–I see you're still in your tower, then.–_

"Yes. And you...?"

_–Still here.–_ Jacquelyn offered her a smile and something about it made a prickling heat spread across Harora's face.

_What is it – what is this?_

_–Harora?–_

"Yes?" The way Jacquelyn said her _name_, making every syllable clear, as though she cared–

_–I have a job for you, if you're willing.–_

"Anything," she promised. _Anything_

_–There's an alliance a bit north of you, in a forest.– _Jacquelyn's face disappeared, replaced by a view of the lands surrounding Harora's tower. It zoomed in on a gold-leafed forest by a river, where a group of six boys sat on the banks or splashed in the water.

"I see it," Harora said, wondering what Jacquelyn was doing.

_–See that boy?– _The view moved in even closer, focusing on a boy Harora recognized – Grimmjow, District One.

"What about him?"

_–I want you to kill him.–_

Harora blinked, on the verge of telling Jacquelyn that she couldn't, that it was not her duty to do this, that District One's death would not come at her hands (she could _see_ that) – but then Jacquelyn smiled at her, raising her eyebrows hopefully, and she could the words spilling form her mouth immediately.

"Of course. Whatever you want, Jacquelyn."

_–I knew I could count on you,–_ she said, smile widening to something almost wolf-like. –_Good luck, Harora.–_ Her face faded out.

Harora stared at the stone as though hoping for a few more seconds speaking with the District Four girl, then picked up her staff, surveying the room, wondering what she should bring with her.

* * *

"Aw, man, captain. Nine's got it _bad_," Calixe drawled as Jacquelyn stepped away from the center of the room. "Fate's making it easy for us."

"'Got it bad'?" Jacquelyn repeated, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure I have _no idea_ what you're talking about."

"Isn't it obvious, captain?" Calixe clasped his hands under his chin and fluttered his eyes, adopting a high-pitched falsetto. "_Anything, Jacquelyn, whatever you want, Jacquelyn_!" His hands dropped and he shook his head solemnly, barely restraining a mocking smile. "She's head-over-heels in love with you, captain, which sucks for her."

"Whatever it is, it's rather convenient," Jacquelyn mused, fingering her sapphire pendant. "She's doing whatever I tell her to, really."

"Fate smiles on us. It has given us this girl–"

"Yeah, sure. It makes me sick, though, pretending I give a damn about lower District trash like her. She's a fool to fall for it."

Calixe made a noise of agreement. "You were being awfully nice. Didn't know you had it in you. I was impressed." He smiled at her. "Though I suppose a Pirate Queen must occasionally work to get people to work with her, no?"

Jacquelyn shot him a curious glance. "...yes. I was about to say something similar myself."

"So what's the plan?" Calixe lept to his feet, grinning. "I'm sure you don't _actually_ expect Nine to be able to take down Grimmjow. He's an idiot, but he's still a Career."

"No, I don't expect her to be able to kill him," Jacquelyn replied, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Then what – oh, captain." Now Calixe was smirking. "Do you want Nine to die for you? Is that it?"

"Hardly," she replied, shooting him a cold glance, and he wilted slightly. "My plans are for me to know and you to find out in small increments that are relevant to the part you must play."

"Fate will be the ultimate guide to our future, of course."

"Of course. But right now, I think we should head upstairs." She strode to the door and yanked it open, making for the flight of stairs that led upwards. The hallway was a bit dimmer than the room, unlit by the eerie green light, and Calixe hesitated in the doorway before following her.

"Where are we going?"

"I saw some stables on the roof. We'll be needing transportation," she called back over her shoulder, starting up the stairs.

"Because anything the Gamemakers put into this arena is sure to be warm and cuddly and a perfect method of transport."

"Of course."

Calixe sighed. "My life is in Fate's hands, then."

"Hasn't it always been?" Jacquelyn tugged on the trapdoor at the head of the stairs. "Come."

Calixe mounted the stairs, fingers going to the coin in his pocket and running along the edge, lips moving soundlessly.

_Fate be my guide – Fate guard my life. And Jacquelyn's too, I guess. Since this is her plan and all._

* * *

Amabel stood ankle-deep in water, shivering slightly at the ice-cold feeling. A few feet to her right, the river fell away into a small waterfall, the noise soothing and somehow melodic, as though singing to her. The water seemed to be flowing right down off the mountains – which would explain the cold. It also meant that she could probably follow this up to its source, ending up in the mountains and hopefully somewhere near Annelisa.

The thing was, she had no idea if her ally was even _in _the mountains anymore. The arena shift could have displaced her – probably had, in fact. But there was only one way to be sure, and she wasn't entirely certain she was ready to look again.

Her bag was cutting into her shoulder, the pain a constant reminder of what she carried. The stone was heavier than it looked, and it seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it – almost as though it were punishing her for not looking at it.

_But if I look, and lose myself again–_

There wasn't much of a risk, really, just one little look couldn't hurt–

"No," she whispered, shaking her head and sloshing over to the other side of the river, shaking water out of her boots. "Nope. Not gonna do it. Not."

The bag banged into her hip as she clambered up the bank and she winced, sure it was going to leave a bruise. For one wild second she considered upending the bag over the river, letting the stone wash away downstream – but for all her trepidation over it, she could never actually let it go. It was too tantalizing a possibility, the seeing.

Her hands had been toying with the bag all along, and she found herself flicking the catch, opening the flap slightly. She could see the gleam of light on smoky glass, and reached down for it–

The sound of voices from downstream made her withdraw her hand, startled. She glanced up, squinting across the river, and was surprised to see a short, blond boy emerge from the trees.

"Hey, Grimmjow, think it's safe to drink this water?"

"Should be," another boy grunted, pushing free of the underbrush and stepping out onto the bank. "Running water's damn hard to poison."

"I'd use the purification tablets anyways." Amabel recognized this boy – Annelisa's District partner, Anarion. And there was Thorin, her own partner, grumbling under his breath about something as he splashed through the shallows. The alliance was six total, and they all had packs on their backs, presumably filled with food and other such necessities.

And now that she thought about it, she was sort of hungry.

_Ask nicely, or sneak in and steal?_

Considering the way the District One boy was holding his sword (drawn already for some reason), she rather suspected that neither option was very wise. But her stomach was grumbling now, and they were moving away from her – she had to choose.

_I'll just follow them for awhile – maybe see if I get a chance to get some food. It can't possibly go wrong._

* * *

**Tributes remaining (14 total): Jacquelyn/Calixe, Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer, Natho, Harora**


	25. Water To Sky

**Day Five Part Two**

* * *

The bird - a cross between a sparrow and a gull, of middling size - fluttered to a halt in the center of the clearing, grey and brown wings folding noiselessly. A feather, soft-white and downy, drifted down to join the dead leaves disturbed by its landing. Its beak dipped down to the ground, orange tip burrowing among the leaf litter in search of some insect or grub.

A rustle amid the bushes made the bird's head flick up, eyes gleaming as it cocked its head, searching for the source of the noise. When nothing followed, it bobbed its head once, then resumed scratching in the dirt.

Another rustle, and a small stone flew from the undergrowth and bounced off the bird's feathered back, driving it forward a few hops. It let out a flustered squawk and opened its wings, waddling forward a few steps on wide, webbed feet before managing to lumber into the air, wings flapping laboriously. A second stone whistled past one of its wings, clipping a feather, and it staggered, protesting loudly. Two or three seconds later if had gained the treetops, and soon after disappeared completely from view.

"Damn."

The bushes shook and Annelisa emerged into the clearing, shaking leaves from her tangled hair. One hand clutched a makeshift slingshot, the other a few pebbles. She squinted up at the sky, searching for her lost prey, then threw the slingshot down with a sigh of disgust.

_Useless. Completely useless._

She sat down in the dirt, crossing her legs and burying her face in her hands. Sure, it was _nice_ to no longer be stuck on a god-forsaken, blizzard-torn _mountain_, but she wasn't entirely sure that starving to death in a pretty forest like this was much better. She hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday, and thus far all her attempts at finding food had been futile.

Briefly, she considered going back to try and find those berries she'd spotted earlier - she was only sixty percent sure they were poisonous - then discarded the idea. She wasn't quite that desperate yet.

_And there's not gonna be a sponsor gift anytime soon, either, 'cause who'd bother to feed someone as pathetic as me?_

Annelisa clenched and unclenched her left hand, wincing at the stiffness. It was better than her right, though - the cold on the mountain had turned two fingers on that hand a rather ugly shade of black.

No wonder she was having trouble shooting birds.

She had some vague idea that you were supposed to amputate frostbitten extremities (though that might be completely wrong, for all she knew), yet she didn't think she had the mental fortitude - or pain tolerance, for that matter - to saw off two of her own fingers.

Maybe in the Capitol there was some kind of medicine that could fix her fingers.

_Yeah, and maybe some super rich Capitolite will have mercy on a poor starving District Ten girl and decide to send you some,_ part of her snapped. _Fat chance of that happening._

She glanced up at the sky again. A bird - the same one she had tried to kill? - wheeled above her in the cloudless blue sky as though taunting her.

* * *

The rush of the waterfall masked the sound of Amabel's footsteps as she made her way downstream, following the muddy prints of Thorin's alliance. She could just see them through the trees - her District partner was last in the group, lagging a good distance behind the others.

_Maybe if I can separate him and ask him nicely, he'll give me some food?_

When Thorin halted abruptly she did as well, frowning in confusion. She watched him glance up at the rest of his alliance and open his mouth as though to call after then, then shut it and shrug as if deciding it wasn't worth the effort. He shrugged his backpack off and made his way deeper into the forest, fiddling with the zipper of his pants. Amabel realized what he was doing and had to suppress a grin.

_Answering the call of nature, huh? Lucky me, I guess._

As quietly as possible, she slipped forward, making sure to keep an ear out for any sign of Thorin's return. Her hand closed around the strap of his pack and she considered making a run for it and taking the whole thing with her – but no, he'd notice his bag was missing immediately. Better to take something small out now and bide her time, wait for another chance.

Her fingers fumbled at the zipper for a few, heart-stopping seconds, but she managed to open the pack, revealing a pack of dried meat at the very top. She grabbed this and zipped it back up, then turned to find a hiding spot again.

"Hey, what're you–"

At the sound of Thorin's voice she turned and bolted, trying to reach the cover of the trees. His hand clamped around her arm before she had gone more than a few paces, and he spun her around, anger clear on his face.

"Amabel?"

"I'm sorry," she blurted, wrenching her arm free and striking him on the head as hard as she could with the packet of jerky. He blinked, stunned for a few seconds, and then his arms shot out and he pushed her to the ground with a snarl.

She struck the earth hard, hands slipping in the fallen leaves, and she scrambled backwards to avoid Thorin's booted foot. Fury turned her vision red – she'd just wanted some _food_, what was his problem? – and she stood, swinging her fist in the general direction of Thorin's face. It glanced off his cheek and he stumbled back, hands going to the axe at his belt.

_Oh, shit._

Amabel drew her knife, backing away. "Um. Well. That escalated quickly. I am very uncomfortable with the current situation-"

Thorin advanced on her, sunlight glinting off the edge of his axe. "No one strikes the king of Erebor without grievous consequences, you know."

"King of where?" Amabel glanced backwards, narrowly avoiding tripping over a tree root. The sound of the river was getting louder. "Y'know, it'd be really great if you could just let me leave now? That'd be... yeah. That'd be really nice."

Thorin laughed, axe blurring through the air. Amabel drew back, a white-hot line of pain slicing across the back of her left hand. She glanced down, startled to see blood welling up and dripping over her wrist.

"Okay. You're dead."

She lunged at Thorin, knife aimed at his head. He parried with his axe, steel clanging off steel, sparks flying. She leapt back a few paces, avoiding another swing of his axe, and emerged onto the riverbank. The river pounded at the rocks below her, a sheer cliff dropping off into the foaming water.

Her knife connected with Thorin's shoulder and he staggered back with a grunt, a dark stain spreading across his shirt. He jerked away before she could withdraw her knife, ripping the blade from her hand, leaving her defenseless. She backed away, searching for something she could use as a weapon - a rock, a stick, _anything._

Thorin struck out with his axe and the dull end slammed into Amabel's stomach, driving the breath out of her. She staggered back a few steps, feet slipping on the edge of the cliff - and then she was falling, the damp earth crumbling beneath her weight, the river's noise rising to greet her.

Her last sight was the river, foaming white about her, spray leaving icy wetness on her cheeks as she fell into its embrace.

* * *

The echoes of Amabel's cannon faded and Thorin backed away from the river, letting his axe drop. Every movement sent a bolt of pain radiating from his wounded shoulder, but at least he'd gotten a good knife out of this fight - once he removed it from his shoulder, that was.

He limped back to where he had left his pack, tugging grimly on the hilt of the knife. It came free from his flesh with a sound that sent a shiver through him, leaving a throbbing ache where it had been. He wiped it on his shirt and slid it through his belt, hoping it would stay there.

_Well. That was... an interesting occurrence._

And his alliance hadn't even noticed that he was gone, let alone that he had gotten into a fight. Typical.

He slung his pack over his shoulder, wincing as the strap brushed the wound, then turned to leave - then stopped. In the bushes, a few paces away, was another bag - Amabel's?

Might as well check it out. There wouldn't be food in it, or she wouldn't have been trying to steal from him, but one never knew what else could come in handy.

He stooped to investigate, lifting the surprisingly heavy bag from among the leaves. The flap was open, and the only thing inside was a large ball of what appeared to be glass, too big to fit comfortably in one hand.

_What's this?_

He lifted it, frowning, and caught a glimpse of something that might have been fire in its depths. Turning it over in his hands, he scrutinized the surface, seeking some clue to its purpose. It seemed to be filled with grey smoke, swirling as he moved it.

"Hey, Thorin?"

He looked up, startled, stuffing the ball back into the bag as though he had been caught doing something illicit - but there was nothing wrong with just _looking_ at something, right?

"Thorin?" Anarion pushed through the trees, frowning. "There you are. We noticed you were gone."

"Yeah?" Thorin tossed the bag over his shoulder, forcing a grin onto his face. "Had to, ah... attend to some business. Thought I'd better not bother His Majesty with such mundane issues."

"Okay." Anarion was eyeing him oddly - had he seen him hide the sphere? "Let's go, then. Grimmjow wants to keep going."

"Of course he does," Thorin grumbled, following Anarion from the clearing. His shoulder still ached, but the pain was fading in the face of this new determination - he would look at this sphere more closely, when he got a chance to... and he would look at it _alone_.

* * *

**14) Amabel Lattimer (killed by Thorin): I honestly liked her. She was a great character. And apparently I have a predictable writing style and it was rather obvious she was gonna die but yeah. Whatever.**

**I bet you can't guess who's dying next chapter~ :3**

**Tributes remaining (13 total): Jacquelyn/Calixe, Raziel, Grimmjow/Anarion/Radagast/Earendil/Thorin/Kile, Amabel, Annelisa, Mortimer, Natho, Harora**


End file.
